


green fruit

by benetnash



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Bisexual Character, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Post-Canon, Sugar Daddy Kink, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-12-10 04:12:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11683788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benetnash/pseuds/benetnash
Summary: “Romantic love has thus far eluded me. I believe it is time I ‘put myself out there’, as they say.”Yusuke makes what might be an unreasonable request.





	1. now and later

**Author's Note:**

> rating is for future chapters. writing this was a lot of fun, I hope you enjoy it too. I haven't shared fic in a long ass time so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

It wasn’t unusual to lose Yusuke in a crowd. Akira had taken to backtracking just enough to confirm that Yusuke had run off and parking himself on a bench or against a building, messing around on his phone until Yusuke tracked him down. The early spring breeze was brisk against his bare forearms, but the noon sun on his face kept Akira from minding too much. Yusuke was probably occupied marveling at some goods he’d seen in a shop window, so it’d do no good to text him. His impromptu shopping ventures had intruded on their plans on more than one occasion, but it was best to let them play out. Yusuke would catch up with him eventually.

Hopefully whatever toy he reappeared with wouldn’t be too unwieldy. Akira’s thoughts touched warmly on the huge naked statue Yusuke had gifted him in high school. It had been by far the most inconvenient of his possessions to transport whenever he moved, but its impracticality was its most charming feature. Even Ryuji felt it was welcome to a space in their shared living room. Akira hummed, content in his thoughts, and texted Yusuke anyway: a button mash of flowers and one eggplant.

The texts, as expected, went unanswered, and it was ten minutes before Yusuke approached with a pink shopping bag, offering broad gestures meant to catch Akira’s attention from a distance. His delighted grin pulled one out of Akira in turn, and Akira pushed away from the wall to meet him, gaze shifting from Yusuke’s warm face to his fingers, which held an uncapped tube of lipstick. The bullet itself seemed to be made of glass or jelly, and encased a small blue flower, perfectly visible through the delicate, smooth gel, which Akira could see very clearly after it had been shoved into his face. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

He didn't have a chance to answer before Yusuke had started in on an enthusiastic exposition on the lipstick’s color-changing properties and the artistry that went into designing elegant beauty products. Akira listened, eyes flickering between the shiny tube waving through the air and Yusuke’s unbalmed lips. It wasn’t the weirdest purchase Yusuke had ever made, not by a long shot, but it was the first of its nature.

Yusuke spent a good deal of the remainder of their walk admiring it, gaze fixed on the tinted jelly and the tiny flower within. It reminded Akira of the glass-encased rose from _Beauty and the Beast_. The small text on the box priced it at three thousand yen, but the spike of worry over how much Yusuke could not afford to drop that kind of money on three grams of beeswax was overwritten by the thought that it was the sort of gift you’d buy for someone else.

They rounded a corner, and then the white stone building of their destination was in view. This block was lined with cherry blossom trees, but it would be another week or two before they were due to bloom in this part of Japan. The bright blue of today’s sky made him hopeful for a few days of good weather; last year had given Tokyo a completely overcast flower viewing season, which had upset Yusuke more with each passing day. The trees were almost bare of petals by the time the sun had peeked out and Yusuke had been able to drag himself out of what had become a colossal sulk. He’d bounced back of course, with renewed vigor and an unkind word for his own moping, but Akira also just wanted to enjoy the cherry blossoms together. Romantic gestures always went over well. Even if Yusuke never noticed them for what they were, he’d go home with soft smiles and warm words and sometimes a bedtime thank-you text wishing Akira sweet dreams.

Yusuke was holding the tube up to the light as they walked, his exact expression so familiar, the face he always wore when admiring whatever strange object or creature had caught his attention. He hadn’t made any move to apply it. He wouldn’t, if it was supposed to be a gift. Akira wet his lips, ready to suggest he test the lipstick himself just to see what Yusuke would say.

He was still working up the nerve when Yusuke derailed him. With no prompting at all, eyes still on the delicate tube in his hands, voice level, lashes fluttering—Yusuke pitched his voice low as to not be overheard, and shyly admitted: “Akira, I’ve been thinking about love.”

* * *

It was similar to many other galleries Akira had attended. Yusuke, having made several prior visits to this particular showing, impatiently led Akira through the crowds of black suit jackets and high school uniforms. The harsh artificial lighting was a difficult adjustment after warm, easy sunshine, but Yusuke had already begun gesturing at an entire photography display while Akira was blinking the spots out of his eyes and trying to find the floor beneath his feet.

Conscious of Akira’s art illiteracy, Yusuke led him through the exhibit and assailed him with flowery commentary on the human condition and the value and purpose of form, color, and lighting for each piece they stopped to admire. The words washed through Akira like water through a fishing net. He was utterly absorbed in the shock of Yusuke’s last second disclosure, angry at the existence of the crowd and how the teeming gallery prevented him from initiating a proper discussion, and in his heightened state of distress, the time between each moment and the end of their gallery tour seemed insurmountable. The purple quality of Yusuke’s soliloquizing was charming as ever, but Akira was too preoccupied with running a mental list of every single woman he had ever witnessed spending more than two minutes in Yusuke’s presence, narrowing the list to those who would wear lipstick, and then narrowing it further to those who would actually appreciate it as a gift. His memory ended up being a lot better than he wished it was.

Oblivious to Akira’s distress, Yusuke led him along in the same manner he always did. The familiarity added yet another layer of displeasure to the moment. These were supposed to be relaxing days, the peace tainted only by the occasional art-related lament or encounter with a condescending old person. Instead, Yusuke had dropped a bomb on him seconds before they reached the throng funneling its way in and out of the gallery building. At a loss, Akira spent his unofficial tour texting distressed emojis to Ann, who was awake despite the late hour in America. He would have liked to call her, just to hear her complain about the other models at the agency and feel buoyed by her warm, playful voice, and distract himself from the immediacy of his thoughts.

It was usually easy for Akira to sink into the gallery atmosphere: the noisy groups of school girls, the lingering scent of paint and linseed oil, the incredulous side-eyes from rich old men, and Morgana fidgeting in the bag over Akira’s shoulder had been the whole of countless day spent at Yusuke’s side. He wished Morgana hadn’t run off to Futaba’s today; they wouldn’t have been able to talk, but at least his warm little body against Akira’s back would have grounded him and offered a measure of comfort.

By the time Yusuke was leading him through the second half of the main room, Ann had sent him enough rows of hearts, sparkles, and piles of poop to calm him down. He took a deep breath, feeling a bit embarrassed at the prospect of articulating the cause of his panic to her later. Nothing would change in an hour. He would ask Yusuke afterward over hotpot or sushi or whatever Yusuke was in the mood to eat. As it was, Akira was wasting their day together. His phone returned to his pocket.

Meanwhile, Yusuke had long since realized Akira hadn’t been listening to him, and was regarding a portrait in silence. Akira fretted for a moment—his renewed attention would be accepted without commentary if he tried to play it cool, but—“Sorry. Phone’s off now.” The easy nod he got in return made Akira duck his head. He almost wished Yusuke expected more of him, at least enough to get annoyed at being ignored, but he knew it had less to do with Akira than Yusuke’s own personality. It was something he wanted to help Yusuke out of, not reinforce. The thought made his gut twist, and the black and blue portrait before them reared with a judgmental frown. “Something came up. What’s this one?”

This gallery was uncommon among others Akira had visited in that there was more than a single room to explore. As they rounded the final corner, Yusuke lighted a hand upon his shoulder and stopped dead. Akira attempted to pull him out of the way of the irritated gallery patrons with a guiding touch, but his hands were seized before he managed.

They were smack in the middle of the hallway, the pads of Yusuke’s thumbs pressed to Akira’s knuckles. His hands were cold as ever, and he loomed close, close enough that Akira had to drag his eyes up Yusuke’s throat to meet his eyes. Such an intense gaze was waiting for him once their eyes met that Akira jerked a step back before he could think, nearly tripping an old man and getting an earful from the nearby security guard in the process.

Akira distracted from the burning of his cheeks by guiding Yusuke with a firm grip on each shoulder until they were well into the next room. No longer obstructing traffic and drawing attention, he eyed Yusuke’s hands, now clasped in a nervous gesture and out of reach. The ghost of Yusuke’s cool touch lingered.

“The piece I wanted to show you is up ahead. I have a confession.” His lashes fluttered disarmingly as he spoke.

 _Confession. Thinking about love. Wanted to show you._ Akira resisted the urge to groan. The artist couldn’t see the forest for the trees, sometimes. Akira was used to it; there was more exasperation than hope in the weight of his sigh, but that didn’t mean he liked when the topic was shoved in his face. He doubted Yusuke would be this smooth on purpose, anyway.

It was rare for the tone of Yusuke’s delivery to indicate the gravity, so Akira wasn’t apprehensive at least. The last time Yusuke had looked so nervous, all he had wanted was company during a park excursion. It was more common for Yusuke to outright demand the absurd or unreasonable. Stripping, for instance, or buying expensive new amenities for his own home just so Yusuke could enjoy them during his visits. “Go ahead.”

Yusuke rallied himself, nodded, and made a grand, sweeping gesture at the far side of the exhibit, nearly clotheslining an old woman in the process. The entire wall was dedicated to a series on love by a single artist, he explained poetically, and had reinvigorated the throbbing something of his artist’s soul, leading him to reevaluate his technical and thematic something something. He was difficult to follow when he got so worked up, but Akira understood the gist. The paintings were arranged with the trailing, naturalistic chaos of stepping stones across a stream, bridging the viewer from one phase of life to the next, and told the story of the viewer himself as he discovered his own path through life. This was true according to Yusuke the Art Expert; Akira the Part Time Barista saw a bunch of nice paintings of cool shapes nailed to the wall at random.

They stopped to admire each one, and Yusuke explicated the significance of each in great detail. They were, to be fair, very striking, utilizing brilliant imagery of the cosmos, the sort of thing that resonated deeply with Yusuke. Akira couldn’t help a doofy grin from stretching his face, thinking of how Yusuke’s interest in the universe as an artistic subject stemmed from their planetarium trip all that time ago in high school. They had made it a point to never go too long without revisiting the place together, but they’d be due soon. Maybe once summer started up and they were in desperate need of the air conditioning.

This painting symbolized innocent boyhood, that one was the loneliness of self awareness, this one was the first great loss in your life, that one was finding yourself through connections with others. Akira gave this one a weighty stare, considering the ribbon-like tendrils trailing after the lone figure like the tails of a kite.

At length, they reached the last in the series, the largest and brightest. There was a powerful burst of color and light blooming from the center, embracing a figure caught in the frenzy of wildflower growth. It was as if the painting had captured the the millisecond before the subject burst beyond the confines of its body, as a root would burst from the tiny flowerpot in which it had been planted. Akira didn’t know anything about technique or color theory, but looking at the painting made him feel like the world was rolling out at his feet like a red carpet.

At his side, Yusuke had fallen silent, too enthralled to speak. They regarded this painting together for some quiet minutes. It was unlike Yusuke to contain himself for so long, but when Akira glanced over, his eyes were far away, caught up in some private struggle.

When he spoke at last, it wasn’t to offer any explanation of the technique or subject matter. Perhaps he could sense for himself that Akira understood it as well as it could be understood; his expression was soft and thoughtful, his voice reverent. “Its title is _Falling Awake_. It’s very profound. I find myself unable to articulate the great many things I feel when I look at it.”

Sensing a measure of expectation, Akira cleared his throat. “Yeah, it’s… deep.” Yusuke’s nod of agreement was sincere instead of deprecating. Maybe he just wanted to encourage any paltry efforts Akira was able to make in the realm of art critique, but on the other hand, Yusuke was too guileless to make any real attempt at positive reinforcement. “I like the movement. Hm, it’s…” He affected thoughtfulness, using the seconds it bought him to channel Yoshida and will something eloquent out of the depths of his psyche. “Like a flower. Growing in space. It’s a metaphor for—blooming somewhere barren.”

Instead of mirroring Akira’s internal cringing, Yusuke raised his brows in surprise and delight. “Yes, yes, that’s it.” Yusuke turned to the painting with fresh enthusiasm. “It’s the final step of the journey. Love has bloomed, and offered itself like a rose.”

The words went straight to Akira’s cheeks, coils of heat making his skin prickle. That _word_ again. “Uh-huh.”

Yusuke was gripping the fabric over his heart, looking pensive and distant. He’d always had such a complex relationship with the subject of love. His mother’s painting had guided him like a distant lighthouse for most of his life, and he had been raised by an abusive extortionist he couldn’t bring himself to hate even after learning of the man’s part in his mother’s premature death. He periodically mentioned never talking to anyone outside of the former Phantom Thieves, and to Akira’s knowledge, Yusuke had never pursued anything related to dating. There was a good chance he’d managed to have an experience or two—it was difficult to believe that every last one of the people who threw themselves at Yusuke on a daily basis had been deflected—but Yusuke wasn’t exactly tight-lipped, and Futaba, who couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, still snooped everyone’s phones on occasion. If Yusuke had ever been in a relationship, it was all too likely Akira would have heard about it at some point.

He fiddled with a curl, remembering his fake dates with Makoto, and how they had been kept private. But that wasn’t the same, was it? If it were Yusuke, if it were real, wouldn’t somebody tell him?

Around them, the gallery was lively with conversation, relevant and otherwise. It afforded them a measure of privacy by virtue of not standing out in the throng. This was insufficient in the way of comfort, however, when Yusuke turned to face him with an air of finality and announced, “For that, I need you, Akira.”

He must have been speaking louder than usual; there was a group of girls in Akira’s peripherals who abruptly fell dead silent. Resisting the urge to glance over at them took up the very last dregs of his self control, most of which was assigned to keeping his voice level. His internal temperature must have spiked by ten degrees. “What.”

“Romantic love has thus far eluded me. I believe it is time I ‘put myself out there’, as they say.” Akira gaped, heart racing, as Yusuke bulldozed on obliviously. “I would like to request your help. Your personal interest in the success of such a venture is not an insignificant factor. I know I would be able to trust the sincerity of your effort.”

He adjusted his glasses just for the chance to shield his face, lowering them again after realizing they were shaking. Yusuke stood in patient silence, clinical and detached even as he discussed—romance? dating? Dating _Akira_. As a project, or a bullet point on a bucket list, was that right? He hesitated to accept the idea that Yusuke could be so insensitive, but maybe Yusuke thought he was doing Akira a favor by coming to him instead of someone else. Akira was self aware enough to realize he would’ve been wildly jealous, even if he had considered himself ‘moved on’ for quite some time now. It’s not like Yusuke had gotten any less attractive over the years. He took a shuddering breath, let it out slow. “’Personal interest’. What do you mean?”

“You’ve always supported me, Akira.”

The words were spoken with deliberate weight, Yusuke’s gaze piercing, nailing Akira to the floor. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes averting. At least Yusuke wasn’t saying it outright. It wasn’t like Akira was crushing anymore; he shouldn’t feel so flustered. “It’s not a big deal.”

He was given a soft smile in return, as if Yusuke was humoring the downplay. “You seem to be an expert on the subject of love. Really, there couldn’t be a more perfect fit. It’s natural I would come to you.”

The protest building in his throat felt like it would only surface as a wordless scream, so he swallowed it back down. “So that’s the vibe I give off.”

“Please take care of me,” Yusuke said, and Akira nodded to a spot on the wall.

* * *

They left the gallery slowly. People would stop Yusuke to flirt with him, or Yusuke would spend a few more minutes gazing at a piece he especially enjoyed. Akira considered the jilted expressions of the three flirtatious girls on his way out. In his own opinion, Akira had little to offer in the way of parsing romantic relationships. If Yusuke wanted to date somebody, Akira could give him that experience. If Yusuke just wanted to feel loved, Akira wasn’t sure how he would humor the request while keeping his sanity. If Yusuke wanted to feel what it was like to love someone else—well, Akira wouldn’t be able to do anything toward that end. Clearly.

His past relationships were a lot of sitting and listening, buying presents, and tagging along on whatever excursions, and by the time they ended he realized his girlfriends hadn’t known him well at all. There hadn’t been any major catastrophes, but it wasn’t a stellar resume either. He really had no idea how Yusuke had built him up as some kind of relationship guru, especially since he had never once spoken to Yusuke about his love life. At least Akira had plenty of experience helping people with their problems; usually all they needed was some emotional support and someone to listen. He’d be able to give Yusuke that.

He wasn’t so sure about the rest of it.

As they left the building, Yusuke’s attention fixed itself on a large group of dog owners across the street, standing at the entrance to a park and laughing with one another. He pulled out his sketchbook in the middle of the busy sidewalk and started sketching, and Akira leaned against the building’s facade and let him inhibit foot traffic by himself.

From that angle, Akira could see the sweeping black lines take the form of a single woman’s smiling face. He thought of Ann and the handful of other girls Yusuke had fixated on during the time Akira had known him, and his own smile slowly dropped. _I need you, Akira._ He’d never been particularly subtle, but it wasn’t as if Yusuke had ever shot him down directly, or even hinted that he knew what Akira wanted. Up until now, Akira had been content to entertain the thought that Yusuke just… hadn’t noticed, hadn’t had a chance to decide whether it mattered to him that Akira was interested. And now he was dealing with the fact that Yusuke would exploit his crush for an art project.

Well, he’d also come to terms with Yusuke’s disinterest a while ago. The suddenness of the request was just messing with him. He’d be fine by tomorrow.

The pencil between Yusuke’s fingers quivered delicately, like a flower in the wind, filling in the page with elegant strokes. He held the instrument like an ink brush, head bowed and back straight, hand moving feverishly, muttering to himself. The cherry blossom tree above him wouldn’t bloom for another few weeks.

Akira groaned, knocking his head against the unyielding brick behind him, forcing his gaze to the rich blue of the sky overhead. It really was a beautiful day.


	2. 100 grand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi! thank you for the kind reception! a couple things:  
> -homophobia exists and the characters will be anxious about it but everyone will be safe forever.  
> -costs and decor of the fake tea house described in this chapter are based on http://www.afm-teahouse.com/ in shibuya.  
> -unless you're somewhere famous or ritzy, ordering tea at a restaurant typically costs ~400yen, and a chill dinner for two is ~3,300yen. a new video game costs ~6,500yen, a 500gb PS4 costs ~30,000yen, a budget gaming laptop costs ~100,000yen. compare to your local prices for mental conversions idk if it'll even matter later but, there you go.  
> also just fyi, I'm keeping sexuality hcs of confidants to a minimum. 2 charas will call themselves straight, but who among us hasn't called themselves straight at some point in their lives, am I right gamers? so for the most part you can think whatever. the only stuff I'm writing explicitly: akira is bisexual, and yusuke's sexuality will be addressed down the line. you will be able to tell I'm writing some charas on the spectrum if you're looking though. also morgana is trans. he's just trans? I can't ignore this? thanks atlus for the trans hellcat I'll keep him safe and warm

The barking of a dog pulled Akira out of a bleary dream. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Yusuke was still above him, hand sweeping confidently over his sketchbook as he sat, picturesque in the shade of a budding cherry blossom tree.

His keen eye caught the waking flutter of Akira’s lashes. “Welcome back. Remove your shirt, please.”

Akira didn’t bother replying, pulled himself into a bone-cracking stretch with a satisfied groan even as Yusuke shot him a warning glare. “Drawing me again?” The air was warm, and only a few fluffy clouds decorated the sky. The lawn was covered with picnic blankets, couples and families alike enjoying the view and the weather.

Surrounded by a semicircle of pastels, intent on the work beneath his hands, Yusuke sat with his back to the tree they had sprawled beneath, on one extreme end of the floral bed sheet Akira had dug out of the back of his closet. “I would never tire of you, as a subject or otherwise. Though I do wish you would indulge my reasonable request.”

“We’re in public, Yusuke.”

“We could leave.”

Akira laughed, heedless of Yusuke’s squawk of displeasure when he threw an arm over his face. “What about the cherry blossoms?”

Yusuke was frowning in disapproval when their eyes met. “Art has no itinerary.”

It was too early to go flower viewing, strictly speaking. The flowers were only just beginning to show a pink blush, sparse between the feathery green leaves of early spring. Still, the half of the sky not obscured by the freckled boughs overhead was brilliant and clear, and the few clouds that had bothered to form hung low and lazy on the horizon. With Akira’s tight schedule and Yusuke’s many projects, promising time to one another was sometimes a gamble; there was no guarantee that they would be able to visit the park together when it was lush with pink and white blossoms, thick in the trees and carpeting the lawn. That, and Akira needed a break _today_ , cherry blossoms or not.

Akira pushed himself up on his elbows, peeking over the top of Yusuke’s drawn-up knees, which held the sketchbook before him like an easel. Yusuke’s hands were smudged with color, a blend of soft, muted tones that smudged muddy at his fingertips where they handled the pastels. He was intent, adding undetectable details to a closeup of Akira’s sleeping face pressed into the curl of his own palm.

Probably creepy, but also probably Akira’s fault for passing out in the middle of a public park. “You never used to draw me this much.”

The waxy glide of pastel on paper did not slow, but Yusuke stared hard at his work rather than meeting Akira’s curious gaze. “Living a year without you gave me the clarity to reassess my priorities.” Akira flushed, bit down on his tongue. “When you left… I missed you terribly. The sketches I had were inadequate. I was wretched over not pushing myself more.”

The words held a careful weight, as if Yusuke was sorting them out for the first time, discovering new layers to his motivations he had not previously been able to put into words. That didn’t mean they came out making sense. “Say again?”

Yusuke sighed, though it was more to himself than a response to Akira’s confusion. “You are a complex subject. I’m still unable to capture your likeness to my satisfaction.” At this, he replaced the pastel, hoisting the creepy sleeping portrait to eye level to assess its progress. The grain of the heavy paper blocked Akira’s view of his serious face, and he had to duck to peek at Yusuke through the space between his sketchbook and the worn knees of his black jeans “I can work on a piece for hours or months, but it never stops feeling incomplete. I used to let that hinder my efforts, but that is no longer the case.”

Their eyes met through the dappled shade of the budding cherry blossom tree. Akira’s lips parted, and for a moment he was mute.

“Also, you’ve had time to fill out.” Yusuke returned the sketchbook to his lap, smiling in approval, as if Akira had been responsible for the inconvenience but had since learned his lesson. Akira sat up, affronted. “You were a bit lanky before.”

“Wow.”

Akira shifted to sit beside him, watching the portrait come to life beneath Yusuke’s skilled hands. It was as beautiful as anything the artist ever produced, scattered with the blush of cherry blossom petals, though none had actually fallen at this point in the season. The soft colors and stark contrast of black called to mind the work Yusuke usually did with ink brushes.

Akira surveyed the worn and broken sticks of color carefully organized in the notched plastic sheets Yusuke had extracted from his box of supplies. Some pastels were missing entirely, more likely exhausted than lost, and all but one rested at half size or smaller. There was a only a single stick that filled the length of its home slot, still crisp from the store, purchased individually: black, ready to replace the dwindling nub that Yusuke was presently all but rubbing into the page, barely substantial enough to grip.

Akira pulled over Yusuke’s supply box. Inside were vials of ink and brushes protected by plastic caps over their bristles, a lumpy case of pens and pencils, erasers of various sizes and textures, a box cutter, several dangerous-looking instruments Akira had never seen in use, and miscellanea Akira kept in his own student pencil case. Much of it was well-maintained, but many tools had been handled so many times that the paint had been worn off where a hand was meant to grip them, or were well beyond the end of their lives; the compass, for one, had broken at the joint, the two halves kept together with a pink rubber band Yusuke had probably swiped from the grocery store.

Yusuke made no indication he was bothered by the nosiness, only reached over at one point to inexplicably tear himself a length of tape and tap the sticky side against the portrait several times. He handed it to Akira, who accepted the garbage on autopilot to his own immediate annoyance. “Thanks.”

Akira eyed the empty spaces in the pastel sheet. He could tell from the arrangement of the remaining pieces approximately which colors were missing, but they had been stripped of any means of identifying them by name. He couldn’t tell what brand they were, or even if they were from the same set.

After a while, Yusuke turned to a blank page with a dissatisfied expression, and lifted his head to view the cherry blossom buds with renewed interest. Akira reached over to his bag and extracted a fancy book on street art Yusuke had been mooning over the previous month. He had planned on gifting it under the pretense of it being a reward for Yusuke getting into some gallery event or other, but Yusuke’s recent request had been too tempting of an opportunity. He held it out, and Yusuke accepted its heft without looking.

“You were checking this out the other day.” Yusuke’s eyes flickered down, and Akira kept talking. “So, I was wondering about your project.” The instant he recognized it, Yusuke’s face shuttered, and Akira stopped himself from clearing his throat compulsively. “Dating, right? We’ll go to a restaurant. I know a good place.”

“Akira, thank you, but I can’t accept this.”

“Don’t worry about it." He flopped onto the bed sheet. He'd never actually seen it before today. It must have been a hand-me-down from Ryuji’s mother. "Are you free next weekend?”

“Why did you get me this? You do too much for me already.”

“It’s normal.” He kept his tone casual, gave a careless shrug and a charming smile from where he'd sprawled. “Just doing the boyfriend thing now.”

The words rang, mortifying, in Akira’s ears as Yusuke took his sweet time to respond. “A… gesture of courtship? You mean… hm.” To his relief, Yusuke’s brow relaxed; to his unease, Yusuke seemed to be realizing that Akira primarily bought gifts to flirt. He smoothed his hands over the book’s bright cover with a thoughtful frown. “Yes, that makes sense. Though I doubt I would be able to do the same.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’d prefer if you demonstrate other methods of self-expression.”

“Just go with the flow.” Akira bit his lip, lied. “I know what I’m doing.”

Yusuke lowered his head, smiled. Akira’s heart fluttered in victory. “Yes, leader. You mentioned a restaurant?”

For all they explored the city, anything fancier than ramen was generally off limits, as Yusuke was so frugal with his meals. You could only buy a friend dinner so many times before it started making him uncomfortable, but buying your date dinner was just good protocol in Akira’s opinion. And since he was the so-called expert in this situation, that was exactly what he was going to do.

* * *

Morgana snapped up his head the second Akira reentered the room. “Cologne!”

Akira had been going through the motions of getting ready for the past hour, an embarrassing amount of time if he thought too hard about it. The time had been spent with Morgana acting as his personal hype man, approving all his fashion choices and telling him how cool and smooth he definitely looked. He’d cocked his head at the hair gel, but seemed content to observe, butt planted firmly on the pillow Akira rested his head on every night. Perhaps he’d been under the impression Akira was in fact going on a job interview.

To be fair, _Going on a date with Yusuke_ was within the scope of things Akira would say as a joke. Morgana wove through Akira’s legs in an effort to reassess his appearance, and Akira almost tripped into his pile of dirty laundry. “A date—is it really?”

“Sort of.” He hadn’t been on an ‘official’ date in several months, and Morgana had never seen him dress up for a man before. Akira’s preferences weren’t exactly a secret, especially considering Morgana was a nearly constant companion, but knowing something abstractly and witnessing it play itself out were very different cases. It was true that Morgana was an otherworldly manifestation of the human psyche in the physical form of a talking cat, and therefore had no business being judgmental, but it was difficult to determine how certain societal biases would play themselves out in him. After all, Morgana had bust out of the womb of the collective unconscious as a raging heterosexual.

Morgana gave him a flat, suspicious look—all cat. “’Sort of’, huh. Well, you’ve said people always mistake you for a couple.” He hopped back to Akira’s pillow, curled up, and watched Akira pose in front of the mirror in thoughtful silence.

Inevitable anxieties aside, Akira felt lame for being this worked up over a date with one of his closest friends. The fact that it wasn’t even a real date made it worse. It should be easier if you knew someone well. It was basically hanging out as usual, except he would be able to insist on bearing the expense instead of listening to Yusuke delineate his bean sprout budget. Yusuke could order whatever he wanted. He swallowed, checked his back pocket for the weigh of his wallet again.

“He’s an interesting guy,” Morgana continued, as if Yusuke were a titillating new subject instead of a consistent presence in their lives for nearly three years. Akira stared hard at a stick of deodorant, wondering if he should have showered. “It’s kind of weird how well you get along.”

“Not really.”

“You do go to a lot of places, though.” Akira tugged on his watch, eyes on Morgana absently washing his face, voice muffled whenever he took a turn to lick his paw. “Gardens, museums, churches and temples, boat rides, that time on Fuji, hmm.”

“I guess.”

“Now that I think about it, they are sorta like dates.” Akira paused in unzipping the bag that usually carried Morgana in response to an affronted yowl. “What are you getting that for? No way am I coming!”

“It’s not a real date.” He was grateful Morgana had come to his own conclusions, but he still wanted the company. There was no one better at moral support than Morgana, and more importantly, he was the only one of Akira’s friends who would fit in a shoulder bag. He held it open with a salesman’s smile. “We might be going for fancy sushi though…”

Morgana hesitated, narrowed his eyes, called the bluff. “I’m not coming on a date,” he pronounced firmly, “even if its fake. You’re on your own.” Akira distantly wondered where his supportive hype man had gone. Morgana hopped up to the windowsill. “How long will you be? I’ll go to Futaba’s.”

He dropped the bag with a defeated sigh. “You should.”

Morgana gave him a probing look, geared up for disapproval, voice heavy with implication. “Can I come back tonight?”

Akira’s face surged with heat, mouth dropping open in dumb shock. “Morgana!”

“Hm… Just checking.” With a grin more suited to the Cheshire cat, Morgana hopped off the windowsill and out of sight.

* * *

“Alright,” Akira said for the fifth time.

He was wearing a nice black button-up and black jeans that disguised the fact they were covered in cat hair. His own hair was the same mess it usually was, but it was crispy in enough places that other people would be able to tell he made an effort. He had lip balm in his pocket and enough money in his wallet that it was uncomfortable to sit on. Yusuke was across from him with his elbows folded over the glass tabletop, wearing the outfit Akira knew for a fact was the only thing he owned not covered in paint. He looked about as handsome as usual, and unbothered by Akira’s jitters.

“Trusting your judgment has never left me disappointed.” Yusuke’s face was serene as he traced the petals of the pale yellow flower between them. Behind him trailed the vines of a hanging plant, and dark green fronds sprouted beneath the glass of the table. On one side, a clay pot spilling over with thick leaves shielded them from the rest of the restaurant.They were enjoying the hard-won ambiance of a table that would allow you to gaze deeply into the eyes of your dining partner, after the hostess had nearly strong-armed them into sitting at the barstools with the other not-real-dates. These tables were nicer anyway; Yusuke might have insisted on them in more abrasive words, if he had been given the opportunity.

“Here to serve.” Akira sank into his chair. He had never imagined being _public_ would make him sweat this badly. If he was going to be this nervous, it was a blessing in disguise that he was with a friend who wouldn’t hold it against him no matter how weird he got, even if that was just because Yusuke wouldn’t even notice.

As if to demonstrate his unfamiliarity with the concept of shame, Yusuke was taking this time to draw attention by gaping at the other tables, having fixated with interest on a booth full of college girls. For a moment Akira expected him to pull out his sketchbook or even walk over, abandoning him to humiliation beyond the point of recovery, but Yusuke instead turned to Akira with a curious tilt of his head, as if asking permission—a considerate new gesture Akira had never seen before. Maybe Yusuke did have some inkling of good boyfriendy behavior.

Still, it was already clear they must be here on a date, considering the venue and table for two, and the last thing he wanted was Yusuke attracting further scrutiny by rubbernecking a group of strangers, or making it look like Akira was being stood up. He offered an apologetic smile before shaking his head, feeling a little guilty for indulging his self preservation instinct, but Yusuke returned his attention to the menu in his hands without complaint, so Akira did the same. At least they were off in a corner; it was a small token of apology from their waitress, who had deciphered Akira’s anxious babbling just in time to save him the embarrassment of spelling out exactly why he and his male friend would insist on a coveted couple’s table during dinner rush. His heart was still pounding from the exchange.

“Shrimp,” Yusuke decided, eyes on the less expensive appetizers.

“It’s on me.” Akira kept his eyes moving blindly over the menu in his hands even though he’d thoroughly appraised their selection online the night before. It was folded and heavy, trimmed in cloth with elegant cursive text beneath the laminate. “Get whatever you want. For your project.”

The responding silence made Akira lift his head. He grinned disarmingly at Yusuke’s furrowed brows and frown to no effect. “That’s not necessary. I’m already inconveniencing you this much. In fact, it’d be more appropriate if I—”

The clap of Akira dropping his menu on Yusuke’s side of the table cut him off. Yusuke started at the sound, grip tightening reflexively on his own copy, half in his lap and propped against the table’s edge. Akira braced a forearm against the back of his chair as he leaned in to flip to the seasonal insert. It pictured, among other things, a 1200 yen cherry blossom tea that he tapped with his finger. “You’d like this one.”

As though some ingrained force repelled Yusuke’s gaze from anything expensive, he first locked onto Akira’s hand. He traced the tendon down the length of his knuckle, stared mutely at the flowery page and the list of flavor infusions to complement the floral centerpiece. At length, Yusuke touched a hand to his chin, conflicted, met Akira’s unwavering gaze. “Well, if you’re certain… Thank you. I’ll choose something to complement a romantic atmosphere.”

Akira flushed with pleasure at the words, letting out a breath of relief and leaning back into his chair when Yusuke broke eye contact.

Yusuke scanned swept the menu with renewed purpose, and Akira watched him, light and warm and fond. He thought of the long list of restaurants he’d bookmarked with Yusuke in mind; he’d chosen this one with careful consideration to Yusuke’s tastes, the season, its reputation, and whether or not Yusuke would think to choose a place like this for himself. The indoor garden wasn’t overly romantic, in spite of its definite niche as a date spot, and you needed to walk through a large, fragrant flower shop just to reach the cafe. The foliage of the dining area was solid green, but the heady scent of freshly cut flowers still reached them here, mingling with the warm aroma of artisan tea.

It was the perfect location to spoil Yusuke on a first date without being too obvious about it. He was lightheaded with the thought that Yusuke was actually letting him. He couldn’t help but think of other places Yusuke would enjoy, if he stopped being weird and let Akira treat him. Or maybe Akira should just stop wanting to so badly.

* * *

The tea came with the appetizers, and the dinner plates followed. As they ate, Yusuke asked invasive questions about Akira’s dating history. He told Yusuke how old he was when he first started dating, when his first kiss happened, what it was like giving his first confession, how many girlfriends he’d had. Specifically girlfriends. Akira couldn’t determine whether Yusuke had noticed his jitters and correctly determined that this must be his first date with a guy, or if Yusuke was avoiding a sensitive topic out of kindness. Somehow, neither seemed likely.

Yusuke had overheard one of Akira’s conversations about Eiko once upon a time, and was shocked to learn Akira had never dated Makoto for real. When Yusuke asked about Futaba, Akira nearly inhaled a mushroom, and the subsequent choking and head-shaking were taken as enough of an answer. On cue, his phone vibrated in his pocket, and Akira’s pulse spiked with annoyance. Goddamnit Morgana.

“Then… Haru? Ann?”

He took a drink of water to soothe his throat, furrowed his brows over their shared plate. “Hold on. Did you think I dated the entire group?” Buzz. Buzz. Akira blindly flicked his pocketed phone to Do Not Disturb.

Yusuke seemed troubled, though Akira couldn’t determine whether it was because he had hired an entry level boyfriend to a managerial position or because his impression of Akira as a person relied heavily on him being some sort of playboy. “I doubt you could have dated the entire group without my knowledge, but… You spent a considerable amount of time with everyone. I suppose if you said so, I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

He thought of that summer break Yusuke had showed up to Leblanc every single day. He thought of their various excursions to parks, museums, the planetarium. “I spent a lot of time with you too.”

“You did. It didn’t feel that way at the time, since I was so covetous of your attention. I suppose I need to rethink some things.”

Akira stared deeply into his tea and tried not to process that.

“You have a certain chemistry with everyone you meet,” he continued, then grew pensive, taking a moment to push a decorative sprig around his plate. “You haven’t been interested?”

 _Haven’t been interested._ The words sat, unfathomable, in the space between them, black as tar. Yusuke sat across the table with raised brows, shoving the crunchy tail of a shrimp between his lips. Earnest. Sincere. On an expensive date he was milking from the guy who had been crushing on him since high school. Ignoring the elephant in the room didn't work well when the elephant was currently being exploited for circus tricks. Akira narrowed his eyes, did his best to school the edge out of his voice. “Guess not.”

Yusuke allowed himself a chuckle. It always surprised Akira when he wasn’t so dazzled by every other facet of Yusuke’s allure that he had to describe it as lecherous. “I learn more about you every day.”

Akira didn’t answer right away. Akira didn’t do much of anything until his heart slowed enough that his own pulse wasn’t giving him a headache. "I’m a deep guy.”

Yusuke returned to his thoughts and his chazuke, which hadn’t been the romantic order Akira had anticipated. It wasn’t easy to flirt with wet rice. He took a deep breath. He wasn't on a real date, he was doing a favor. It was convenient that he was a little mad. It would give him some much needed detachment and clarity.

His back was to the room, which hid his face, and Yusuke was in a blind spot behind the potted plant, which would have worked better if he hadn't been so tall. But people were standing up, moving around, walking to the restroom or else delivering an order to a customer. There were so many straight couples. The odds were that at least one person would look over.

“Here.” Akira held out a piece of breaded tofu in his own chopsticks, wearing what he hoped was a playful smile.

Yusuke’s eyes crossed as they focused where Akira held it up to his mouth, close enough that Yusuke could easily lean forward and take it for himself. Just lean forward and close his mouth around Akira's chopsticks. Stage one: indirect kisses, flirting, feeding, whatever. It was a romantic gesture. He was certain of this as he contemplated the restaurant behind him, the open den of eyes, and did his best to relax so his hands wouldn’t start shaking.

Yusuke lifted his own chopsticks and pinched the tofu out of the air at the exact moment Akira probably would have dropped it. “Thank you.”

Someone stifled laughter at a neighboring table. Akira’s heard the sound, but was too busy shielding the burn of his face from his dining companion and trying to melt into the foliage at his side. Yusuke had closed his eyes to savor the bite, ignorant of Akira’s distress. He hummed, chopsticks resting against his bottom lip. “Delicious.”

Akira cast around for a distracting segue topic, came up short, pushed a frond of the plant out of his ear. “Did you want” he began, took a steadying breath, “advice? About dating.”

“Of course. Anything you are able to tell me would prove beneficial, I’m sure.”

 _Rule number one: at least play along_. “Great.” Helpfully, his mind blanked of anything else. He hoped whoever had laughed couldn’t see his red face. “You can count on me.”

Somehow pleased, Yusuke returned to his meal, nearly finished. Akira took the time to deeply contemplate all of his recent decisions, especially his google searches on seductive behavior, and curse them. And he was still tense as a bowstring when two small hands covered his eyes and a voice sang into his ear, “Guess who!"

* * *

Pure horror. Akira nearly smashed his skull into Haru’s nose, but her swift reflexes saved them both. She giggled, meeting Akira’s shocked expression with a cheerful smile and wiggling her fingers mischievously. His mouth fell open. “Found you!”

He was too struck by her sudden appearance to question it as she slid between him and the potted plant, wiggling onto Yusuke’s chair until he was leaning against the very corner of the restaurant. He did his best to accommodate her, but it took a lot of flailing for them to settle with their arms around each other as support. Watching Haru appear out of nowhere just to manhandle Yusuke halfway out of his own seat was an unexpectedly welcome sight. Akira watched them with his chin in his hand, trying to cover his smile with the splay of his fingers in spite of his racing heart.

He considered flagging down a waiter for an extra chair, but the two seemed content to squish against each other, and someone would notice eventually.

“How are you both?” Haru had one arm tucked around Yusuke’s waist to cement them on the chair together, and looked up at him as she asked. His wrist balanced stiffly on her shoulder so his pointy elbow could float in the dead space between their backs and the wall. It looked nice. She turned. “Akira, I haven’t seen you in weeks, I’m glad I was able to catch you.”

It was true. Between Akira’s numerous jobs and Haru’s very successful business ventures, lately they’d only exchanged texts. Akira didn’t always reply, either. He was lucky most of his friends understood this about him by now. Morgana would be sorry he missed her. It didn’t explain her sudden appearance though.

Then again, this seemed like the sort of cafe Haru would enjoy herself, and Akira couldn’t reasonably expect she would see them and assume they were on a not-date. She picked up Yusuke’s chopsticks only to steal a bite of Akira’s shiraae, and he sighed, fond.

They spent a good deal of time updating each other. It was Haru and Yusuke who had the most to say, not least because of their eventful lives and thriving careers. Akira ‘still worked at the bar and the airsoft shop, yeah’ and was ‘doing well in his classes, yeah’, so he was mostly content to listen to them, ordered dessert to share as they talked, and admired the way they were pressed together behind the little table, meant to seat one. He kept a running tally of the bill, ordered them more tea when they ran out. A waiter with a very tight smile moved them to a more spacious booth, more of a fancy picnic table, with Haru claiming the aisle seat but shoving her very expensive purse between Yusuke and the wall he had tried to lean against.

Watching them talk sent a satisfying hum through Akira’s body. His previous tension and irritation had lifted enough that he was wondering whether he had overreacted to Yusuke’s behavior. He was being sensitive, and Yusuke was being insensitive, something like that. It was probably a stroke of luck that Haru showed up when she did. Maybe the whole fake date arrangement was messing with both of them more than expected. He’d be more careful.

“Haru, I suppose it’s a bit late, but if you don’t mind my asking… why were you here in the first place?”

She took a moment to furrow her brows, turned to Akira’s expectant face with a frown. “Oh, Akira… don’t you check your texts?” For the first time, Haru looked a little unsure about appearing out of nowhere and helping herself to their food. “Futaba told me to meet you! She said you knew I was coming…”

Akira remembered the notifications he had received in the middle of dinner, tried not to laugh. “Oh.”

She looked back to the very private table they had vacated, where a couple was currently playing footsie and holding hands with no regard for subtlety. “It’s a little late for me to ask as well, but did I interrupt anything?”

“Nah.”

“Akira is helping me with my next project.”

Her shoulders fell a little in relief, and she beamed her sweet smile. “How lovely. Please tell me about it.”

Before Akira could change the subject, Yusuke was putting down his chopsticks and starting from the beginning. “Haru, I would love to take you to see the paintings in person. There is a series by a certain artist which beautifully illustrates the journey of self discovery—”

Haru nodded along, interested, as Yusuke gave her a summary of what he and Akira had discussed at the gallery. When he started in on the subject of _Falling Awake_ , however, he seemed to possess new insight; Akira listened anxiously as Haru’s brows rose.

“The final stage is discovering the wild, vibrant passion of love. Though it’s… a subject I admit I’ve been curious about for some time, I’ve never made any efforts to approach it myself. I’m embarrassed to say that it has intimidated me.”

Haru covered his hand where it rested on the table. “That’s normal, Yusuke.” Her voice was low and sincere, with a reassuring conviction that smoothed the tension from Yusuke’s shoulders. “It can be really scary, even if you do have a lot of experience. I'm glad you're still willing to try. It'll be worth it.”

“Thank you, Haru. You’re very kind.” He pulled his hands to his lap, and she laced her own fingers over the table with a warm smile. "And that's reassuring to hear," he added in a smaller voice, eyes lowered. In spite of his earlier irritation at the topic, Akira felt his heart gape wide open at the shy, vulnerable look on Yusuke’s face as he recovered from admitting something so personal. “Well, Akira has agreed to help me find it for myself. His methods are a bit dubious, but I trust his wisdom.”

Haru bored into Akira’s skull with a judgmental gaze, or that’s what he assumed; he was busy adjusting his silverware, folding his napkin, swirling the dregs of his tea, and could not possibly make eye contact at this moment.

“I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Yusuke crossed his arms over his chest and touched a hand to his chin with a considering hum. “No, I don’t think you’d be interested. I do appreciate the offer.”

Akira sank into his seat, and Haru finally caught his eye. She looked more worried than suspicious. He rubbed some condensation into the polished wood of the tabletop, distantly hoping Yusuke was still enjoying the enchanted garden atmosphere, even if he’d preferred the glass tables of the date seats.

“Hm… well, please tell me how it goes.”

She looked to Akira as she said it, so he nodded numbly, excusing himself.

* * *

**Futaba** : gross  
**Futaba** : i cant believe the phantom thieves were just akira’s harem the whole time  
**Futaba** : unrelated but you know whos really hot? dr takemi. whats that about  
**Futaba** : YOU KNOW I CAN JUST UNMUTE YOUR PHONE  
**Futaba** : but ill be nice today  
**Futaba** : since youre on a DATE  
**Futaba** : id give inari the shovel talk if i thought hed get it  
**Futaba** : HEY harus nearby should i send your location  
**Futaba** : or would that ruin the cultivated date ambiance  
**Futaba** : help is he FLIRTING  
**Futaba** : he’s smooth wtf?? inari after dark  
**Futaba** : if you tell him i called him smooth im publicizing your internet history  
**Futaba** : harus coming! please touch her baby soft rich girl hands for me  
**Futaba** : youre so far from all the cameras :/  
**Futaba** : wtf are you two always like this in private  
**Futaba** : mona says yes but if he was there it WOULDNT BE PRIVATE WOULD IT MONA  
**Futaba** : holy shit did you DRESS UP lookin cool joker  
**Futaba** : i can tell you used hair gel but i cant tell what you were trying to accomplish with it

 **Akira** : you stay away from my internet history  
**Akira** : for your own sake if not mine

 **Futaba** : killjoy

 **Akira** : and tell morgana hes grounded

 **Futaba** : im placing him under house arrest as we speak  
**Futaba** : ok ill leave you alone now i just wanted to check on you  
**Futaba** : HAVE FUN visit soon you owe me a hug u3u

 **Akira** : <3

* * *

For whatever reason, the register was at the far side of the restaurant. He’d noticed other tables paying on the spot, continuing their dinner chatter while a staff member disappeared with the leather-dressed bill and returned with change or a card. A convenient service, but he preferred to be discreet. He supposed it made sense that both extremes were available at a date spot.

As he approached, Akira extracted his wallet, as giddy as if he were getting away with something illicit. He waited for the older man in front of him to pay, preemptively peeling open the velcro between his hands and drawing their attention with the embarrassingly cheap sound.

Once the man finished his business, the cashier offered Akira a smile in turn. “Good evening. Here to pay?”

Akira nodded, cheeks flushing in pleasure, and recited the table number.

“Let me see—Oh.” She punched a few buttons, and a curious smile spread over her face. “Sorry! Looks like someone beat you to it.”

He stood, uncomprehending. Haru had been seated the whole time, and they’d ordered dessert and more tea since she’d joined them. “Maybe it’s the wrong table?”

Akira’s grip tightened on his shitty cloth wallet as she read back their orders: the tea, the entrees, all the appetizers, the egg tart and French toast and berry sorbet they’d all shared. It had taken all of a minute to locate the register. Haru could not have possibly magicked her way over here without him noticing, and Yusuke—he just couldn’t have. “That’s us…”

Picking up on his tone, she lowered her voice. “Next time, give us your credit card when you first sit down, and we can take care of it.” She winked and grinned. Her easy smile made him clench his teeth. “Next time!” she said again. “Thank you for your business and enjoy your meal!”

Akira didn’t have a credit card. He’d never needed one; online purchases could be paid on delivery, his parents were still paying his phone bill, and most places he frequented didn’t even accept anything but cash. Haru must have spotted their table and paid for them before even sitting down.

He thought of these things as he stared at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror afterward, willing himself to stop sweating, to calm down, to not blame Haru or Futaba or Morgana for the hot frenzy of hurt and anger squeezing at his heart.

* * *

He took the time to floss and rinse his mouth, blot his face with little sheets of rice paper, and bomb the room with deodorizer, figuring he may as well enjoy the excessive amenities the bourgeoisie kept in their restaurant toilets. He wasn't keeping track of the time, but it took four patrons coming and going before he trusted himself enough to head back. Now that the episode had passed, Akira felt a bit stupefied. Haru hadn’t meant to take anything from him. She hadn’t known Akira was treating Yusuke as part of his project. She’d probably assumed, as usual, Yusuke would pay his share, and took the opportunity presented by her late arrival. She’d thought they knew she was coming. In fact, she’d probably wanted to treat Akira too. He and Yusuke probably looked just about the same to a billionaire.

Everyone supported everyone else, everyone was as generous as circumstances allowed. That’s why he loved his friends so much. This wasn’t a bad thing. It’s not like he’d said anything to her about his intentions. She hadn’t known his plans, and he should have realized hers.

He hung back from the table for a few moments, watching his friends from a distance. Giving himself just a bit more time, and taking a long moment to admire them.

In spite of the available room, the two were pressed snugly together on their side of the table, taking turns at a dwindling piece of French toast, cutting themselves progressively smaller pieces and each insisting the other take the last bite. Haru was wearing one of the soft sweaters she favored, a cool shade of mint green that flattered her hair color and made her lips seem pinker. The wide collar of Yusuke’s royal blue shirt, though Akira had been exposed to it time and again, never lost its appeal. His sleek hair was in charming disarray where Haru must have mussed it. They leaned into each other in an easy intimacy, and Akira wondered. Then he felt stupid.

“I think I’ll go,” Yusuke was saying. “I’ve never been to one before. They were very friendly… I must admit, I’m a little nervous.”

“I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time. Hello, Akira.” She didn’t comment on his extended absence, but saw something in his face that morphed her smile into something uncertain. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah," he heard himself say. “Thank you for treating us. It just surprised me.”

“Oh, Haru.” Yusuke turned. “That wasn’t necessary, thank you. Everyone is being so generous lately.”

Haru waved it off with a smile, and Akira took a deep breath to relax his tense body. All okay.

“Anyway, Yusuke, where is it?”

“Shinjuku.” Yusuke pushed the single triangle of rejected French toast over to Akira, who finally claimed it for himself. “It should be a valuable experience. I’ll do my best to throw myself into it passionately.”

“A wonderful goal. Akira, are you free next weekend? Saturday evening?”

Akira was never free on Saturday evenings. Lala liked to tell him he needed to get out more though, so maybe she’d give it to him. “I can ask my boss.”

Yusuke perked up. Haru stole a dainty bite of his matcha egg tart while he spoke. “I'm sure I can guess at the answer, but have you ever attended a club? The late-night variety.”

He had. There had been too many poor decisions and body shots in the past year alone. Akira averted his eyes and dipped a spoon into his half-melted sorbet. “Maybe.”

Haru raised her brows in a knowing smile and turned to Yusuke, who looked somehow smug, as if Akira had only validated his status as a teacher of all things passionate and carnal.

“Would you be willing to join me? I’ve been given the opportunity to accompany a group of classmates, but I’m not particularly close with any of them.” He put a hand to his chest, the picture of earnestness. “They’ve extended the hand of friendship, but I’m feeling quite anxious. My heart would rest easier knowing you’d be there with me.”

Akira wanted to sigh. He was so cute and weird. “I’ll take care of you.”

Haru laughed, reaching over to smack Akira’s shoulder more firmly than he had been prepared for. Yusuke looked touched. “Thank you, truly.”

Clubbing though. He’d have to mentally prepare himself for Yusuke to see him drunk. An image of a nude dancer pulling Akira up behind the screen flashed in his mind. Waking up to messages from half his friends reacting to drunken sexts with varying levels of intrigue and concern was a particularly potent memory. His conversation with Hifumi, who had been the only person replying at 2AM, had somehow evolved into a fantasy RP that landed him in one of her Dungeons & Dragons groups a week later. Club drinking was a dangerous beast.

Maybe he shouldn’t drink at all, actually. "Any time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> club date: IMMINENT


	3. bar none

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the big delay getting this up! I have a lot going on irl and I went on vacation for 2 blessed weeks. also I rewrote 100% of this chapter, then added a bunch and deleted a bunch, and rewrote it all again. whew! feels good to publish it! let me know if I fudged anything

**Futaba** : AKIRA  
**Futaba** : make sure yusuke saves me some food i REALLY wanna see if hes actually any good  
**Futaba** : im still not convinced he can cook anything that isnt curry or bean sprouts  
**Futaba** : or you save me some  
**Futaba** : he promised but still  
**Futaba** : what if he forgets  
**Futaba** : while gazing deeply into your eyes

 **Akira:** a legitimate concern, my eyes are lovely

 **Futaba** : are these the lies he tells you

 **Akira:**  his tastes are very refined

 

* * *

 

Akira was still off kilter from that day at the cafe. He went home that night feeling like he had failed an interview—failed to pay for the date, failed to engage Yusuke romantically even when being direct, failed to contribute to Yusuke’s goal in a meaningful way. And more, a part of him had hoped Yusuke would look at him differently, approach the date from the angle of someone open to Akira’s advances, if only for the charade. He had not.

But Yusuke had never been someone who responded to romantic advances, or even noticed them. As far as Akira knew, had never initiated any either. So that was where the trouble lay, and that’s what Yusuke needed help with. It wasn’t as if Yusuke was suffering a lack of people willing to date him. A relationship, or at least making out with strangers in a public restroom, had never been out of reach for someone with that face and those legs. Maybe that’s why he’d requested a temporary boyfriend situation, rather than help with a particular conquest.

Though he also hadn’t completely ruled out the possibility that Yusuke, through some backwards logic, had asked Akira to serve as a fake boyfriend to convey an interest in dating him for real. At least it would explain why Akira felt less like he was teaching relationship dynamics and more like he was genuinely attempting to win Yusuke over.

It was the middle of the day, morning classes complete and afternoon classes a few hours off. Akira usually reserved this time for slamming back shots of espresso and powering through his homework, or else napping in the back of the library, but since that day at the gallery Yusuke had been squeezing into his tight schedule as often as possible. Presently, he was rummaging around Akira’s tiny kitchen for pots and pans, marveling over the luxury of a balloon whisk, and offering a list of increasingly complex recipes he’d like to attempt. He had arrived brandishing an enormous recipe book from the library that was already buried under a pile of crockery. An small orange lily was tucked behind his ear, a testament to the intended romantic atmosphere.

So Akira had greeted him with a squeeze of the hand, and Yusuke had retracted it with a flustered scoff. Akira had brushed Yusuke’s hair out of his face while he was pulling out a selection of spices, and Yusuke had knocked over a stack of measuring cups. Akira had come up behind Yusuke while he was poring over the recipe book, a hand against the small of his back, and Yusuke had jumped before settling into the touch with an unnatural stiffness of posture. It all confirmed what Akira had been supposing, that Yusuke needed to become more comfortable before he got anywhere else with his plans of fairytale romance. The reactions were endearing though. Akira certainly didn’t mind pushing that envelope.

Cooking a meal to share had been Yusuke’s idea, a gesture of gratitude for taking him to such a nice restaurant the other day. Akira had smoothly accepted the offer, gone home, and panicked over the two bottles of squeeze mayonnaise and the single wrinkled cucumber sitting in his refrigerator.

During his time with Madarame, Yusuke’s list of chores had included cooking, a task he enjoyed as an exercise in creativity, as he often worked with a paltry list of mediocre ingredients. Sharing meals in the atelier with the other apprentices had been one of the few fond memories he had of the place. This was information Akira had learned over time, and he thought of it while stuffing a shopping basket with as much produce, meat, and sundry as it would hold. At the register, he was acutely reminded why he didn’t have two dozen unpronounceable spices sitting around his cupboards. But it was worth it when Yusuke had turned to him with stars in his eyes in the middle of overturning his kitchen.

Never mind the fact that Akira hadn’t actually treated him to the cafe in the end; Yusuke liked cooking, Akira wanted Yusuke to cook for him, and Yusuke was making new memories untainted by the ghost of his abuser. Akira left him to it, leaning against the wall and humming in pleasure as he watched.

 

* * *

 

 **Futaba** : hey question  
**Futaba** : are you two actually dating

 **Akira** : why would you think that

 **Futaba** : its dumb i know  
**Futaba** : mona and i were talking and youre both really idk  
**Futaba** : and now hes cooking for you suddenly  
**Futaba** : you cook for everyone so i guess you deserve it but idk its new  
**Futaba** : and i only just found out you like guys? you COULDA TOLD ME  
**Futaba** : idk if inari does though  
**Futaba** : but youre together a lot and its even more lately so i was just wondering  
**Futaba** : feel free to jump in ANY TIME NOW

 **Akira** : i bought the ingredients and he likes to cook it’s pretty 1:1  
**Akira** : also it’s the middle of the week and i’m a dead uni student with 2 jobs

 **Futaba** : well yea i know? but???????

 **Akira** : we’re not dating  
**Akira** : also stop gossiping with my cat about my love life

 **Futaba** : im sorry i had to ask it was eating me alive

 **Akira** : now that you know i’m single though ;) any other questions?

 **Futaba** : yeah hows your d&d campaign coming along

 **Akira** : i’m still level 4…

 **Futaba** : im embarrassed to know you

 

* * *

 

Akira didn’t know why he hadn’t actually expected Yusuke to put him to work, but after spending too long with his phone in his hand, Yusuke shoved some onions into his arms and kicked him over to a cutting board. He was tasked with everything menial from chopping vegetables to washing rice, but he was happy to be helping, ridiculously so; this was an activity he’d always wanted to share with a significant other, a chance he hadn’t thought to hope for today. Yusuke seemed equally content, maintaining a nearly one-sided conversation about the four different colors of bell pepper Akira had bought on impulse. They continued like this until Yusuke caught him throwing the uneven cut of a ruined vegetable into his mouth and scolded him on his reprehensible cooking etiquette. It was funny enough that he kept doing it until Yusuke gave up on his abhorrent manners with an offended huff. A cute one.

It was the decision of a moment, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to pinch Yusuke’s frown, just barely making his lips pucker like a fish before they went stiff in a grimace and he batted Akira away with an embarrassed shout. Seeing Yusuke’s red face felt better than stealing treasure. Akira bit back his grin.

It was sweet. And now that he was working alongside Yusuke in the kitchen, it was that much easier to get close, sidling up beside him or plucking his sleeve or reaching over him when it wasn’t necessary. Yusuke jumped every time, growing increasingly flustered against Akira’s expectations. He’d fallen back on familiar actions, not wanting to make Yusuke uncomfortable, but it appeared that Yusuke was just—nervous now. They continued like this until Akira caught sight of Yusuke sifting flour with stiff shoulders, facing away. Akira had settled into such a state of mind that he didn’t think much about dragging his nails down Yusuke’s spine, but the resulting jump and cloud of white that billowed into the air was so shocking and delightful that he couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

Yusuke turned, paint-spattered shirt overlaid with a screen of white, looking harassed. He grabbed Akira’s offending wrist and shook him helplessly, beyond the point of speech, sweaty from the stove with tousled hair and pink cheeks. The only response Akira could muster was a beaming smile, heart swelling fit to burst.

Once Yusuke calmed down, he shuddered out a breath and let Akira go, wordlessly returning to his task. Akira covered his guilty grin with the freed hand and leaned against the counter at his side. “I’m really glad you came over today.”

“I can see that.” Yusuke swiped the back of his hand across his forehead to push his hair out of his eyes, fingers tipped with white. “It was my understanding we were on a time limit. You’ve been uncharacteristically troublesome, considering.”

“Yeah.” He moved closer, bumped Yusuke’s hip with a smile. Yusuke stumbled, eyes wide. “I just like seeing you worked up.”

“What does that—” Yusuke stifled his raised voice, visibly pulling himself together. He raised his chin. “Never mind. Please go over there.”

Akira was banished to the table for the remainder of Yusuke’s time in the kitchen, but he didn’t mind watching. After Yusuke had composed himself, he moved efficiently, stirring and mixing and arranging the food in frying pans, pots, a bowl of icy water, and ultimately onto a set of plates with a practiced ease and a focused expression.

It was surreal. Akira had definitely flirted before, but Yusuke had never responded like this. Maybe that flower was some kind of magic charm. It was a far cry better than the oblivious dismissal Akira was used to, to say the very least. Yusuke wasn’t exactly flirting back, but he was at least aware of Akira, had opened himself up enough that Akira was able to find and press his buttons. He was just much shier than Akira had expected. The sweetness of the thought had Akira sighing into the table, melting into his own crossed arms.

It was a good date, all the more because Yusuke had been the once to suggest it. Maybe that bit of initiative was all he needed to open up.

Yusuke made an unholy amount of food, fish and salad and tofu and rice, and piled a good deal of it into a sealed container for the Sakura family straight away, promising to inform them of Akira’s part in sponsoring and preparing it. Akira helped him carry the rest, cluttering the little kotatsu table with more food than it had ever seen, even counting the time he and Ryuji had splurged on enough bad takeout to make themselves sick. Yusuke had gone a little wild with the spices, but it was exciting to taste-test the new arrays of flavors. Everything was wonderful, all the more because Yusuke was so pleased with himself for preparing it.

The flower in his hair had drooped after all of Yusuke’s work at the stove and Akira’s needling, and Akira reached to readjust it before it fell. Yusuke jerked absently at the sensation, a gesture to shoo off a fly, and gave a second start, his knee crashing into the underside of the table when Akira’s fingers brushed the shell of his ear.

Yusuke caught sight of the lily when he raised his head, presumably to yell, clutching his knee. His pinched face melted into one of understanding the moment his eyes landed on the orange petals where they spun like a pinwheel in Akira’s deft fingers. “I’d… forgotten about that,” he admitted with a pained hiss.

Akira tucked the flower back in place, delighted as Yusuke averted his eyes and crossed his arms and blushed. It was new in a hundred wonderful ways. “You’ve been really jumpy today,” he teased.

“You’ve been unusually meddlesome, yourself.” Yusuke’s voice was not playful, and he busied himself with readjusting the plates, which had been disturbed by his outburst. Akira resumed eating, curious of the stiff tone. When it was clear Akira was not about to respond, Yusuke continued. “I’ve been trying to determine your motive.”

Akira stopped, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. For a moment, he was too surprised to speak. “What.”

“As far as I can tell, it’s to take pleasure in embarrassing me.” Yusuke’s voice was clipped as he frowned at his tea.

“No! Yusuke. Why would I—” Akira recrossed his legs on the floor cushion, blasted by a surge of guilt. Sure, Yusuke had seemed flustered, but… “Touching and stuff is a normal part of a relationship. If it upsets you, I’ll stop. Or slow down. Maybe it was a lot.”

Yusuke considered his words as Akira trailed off, pursing his lips with his eyes on his lap. “Was this a lesson?”

“Yes?” Akira’s brows rose in surprise as Yusuke looked up, catching his moment of incredulity. He braced himself on the edge of the table, biting his lip and thinking of—whether this could have been Yusuke’s oblique attempt to ask him on a genuine date. His cheeks burned, and he didn’t fight the flutter of his heart. “Unless you… hadn’t meant it to be?”

“I hadn’t,” he admitted, but he was crossing his arms and wearing a look of abject confusion. Akira blanched. “And I fail to see how it qualified as one. All you did was… well, I suppose certain circumstances would make for a very different… It just never occurred to me you would think…” He trailed off, eyes locking on the nude statue he’d gifted years ago, poised by the television. He took a breath. “You’re right in that it’s a normal part of a relationship—well, to the best of my limited knowledge, though I’ve seen enough evidence that I can say so with a measure of confidence—”

Akira grew more and more mortified as Yusuke babbled in this vein. Hadn’t Yusuke been the one to suggest today’s date? Had there really been nothing on his mind aside from cooking for Akira in thanks for something Akira didn’t even do? Then again, Yusuke had already set a date, just a few days away. With that around the corner, there was no reason to spend more time than necessary upholding the charade. This hadn’t even been a particularly date-like activity, Akira’s personal feelings aside.

He’d been flirting for the past two hours. Relentlessly. Yusuke hadn’t been shy—hadn’t been flustered or affected or responsive. Akira had taken delight in Yusuke’s reactions, but all the while, Yusuke had been trying to puzzle out why Akira was suddenly unable to keep his hands to himself, feeling bewildered and mocked. Weirded out, at best. Akira forced himself to continue eating the meal they had prepared together, head lowered so that Yusuke couldn’t meet his eyes and read everything he was hiding there.

“Forgive me, I said I would trust your wisdom. I don’t discount the value of pop quizzes, but I do wish you would have warned me beforehand.” The words had Akira stifling a groan of humiliation, but Yusuke didn’t notice, focused on some inner struggle. At length, he held out his hand, palm up, with a determined furrow of his brow. “You must allow me to redeem myself. I’m most familiar with the concept of hand holding, and would appreciate constructive criticism.”

It was just about the last thing Akira felt like doing. He regarded the hand blankly, then rested his own in it with a stifled sigh, averting his eyes toward the spread of the table, the fried tofu and miso soup and grilled fish. Despite himself, his cheeks heated as Yusuke carefully enveloped Akira’s stiff hand with a cool touch, thumb making a pass over Akira’s knuckles as his fingers curled into the cup of Akira’s palm. Akira leveled his breathing and reminded his heart to stay calm.

“I know this must be uncomfortable for you.” Yusuke spoke to their hands where they rested against the corner of the table, squeezing once, softly. “I’m rather uncomfortable myself, but I’m very grateful for your cooperation. Is this sufficient?”

Toward the beginning, Akira had, in fact, entertained the fear that he would get too caught up in the charade of romantic gestures and forget he was supposed to be acting. He could laugh at that fear now.

“Yeah,” he forced out. “Great job.”

Yusuke’s hand moved away, and Akira watched steam rise from his tea, breathed in the rich mixture of sweet and spicy foods in front of him, a gift Yusuke had been so excited to offer. His hand tingled as he returned it gingerly to his side, determined to feel nothing at all. Beside him, Yusuke sighed in relief over his passing grade, settling into a thoughtful smile.

He still wasn’t entirely clear on what Yusuke wanted from him. The acknowledgment of his past crush brought such a thorny, embarrassing layer to the situation that he was loathe discuss it any more than Yusuke already insisted. Still, Akira was determined to help, most of all because Yusuke wouldn’t have taken this to anyone else; that alone was enough to make Akira swallow his melancholy and growing irritation. At least he wasn’t easily replaced.

Still, whenever Yusuke turned his bright-eyed expression on him, Akira melted a little. A lot. And he was doing it now.

“I cannot overstate how much your continued support and friendship mean to me.”

Alright, he couldn’t be too upset. He liked helping, and not just Yusuke. It made him feel close to people, gave him new perspectives, taught him some amazing things. It was so difficult opening up to other people—for Akira, the words always got stuck—he couldn’t help but admire someone willing to confide their troubles. And he liked being someone others could rely on, even if he couldn’t always offer them anything. Often, the best he could do was listen to Yusuke’s struggles or encourage him, possibly break into a house or make an ass out of himself in a church. Yusuke’s success came from his own power.

Yusuke’s expression was so warm and sweet that Akira wanted to share this, but his stomach knotted in discomfort, throat shutting at the thought of even opening his mouth to start.

 

* * *

 

“Hey dude, you got a minute?”

Akira looked up from his phone, where he had been having a heated debate with Tae over whether or not romancing a ghost was necrophilia. His homework was scattered over the top of his desk, shoulder bag spilled across the floor. Ryuji hovered awkwardly, bracing himself on the frame of Akira’s bedroom door. “What’s up?”

Morgana’s little snore rumbled in Akira’s lap, and Ryuji pitched his voice low so as not to disturb him. “How’s it goin’ with you lately?”

“Fine,” he answered automatically. He nudged his phone into the sea of papers, taking note of Ryuji’s averted eyes. “Problem?”

“I mean with Yusuke.” Akira’s blood pressure spiked so fast that his head swam, but Ryuji lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “Woah. Man, I’m no good at this.” Ryuji shuffled into the room and plopped onto Akira’s bed, eying the overturned schoolbag as if it would come to life and wrangle him back to the hell of institutionalized education. “I mean, you’ve been… yanno… on edge lately.” He gave Akira a look as if he was half sorry for asking. “Did somethin’ go down?”

“I’ve been helping him out with something. You know how that goes.”

“Uh, sure.” Morgana snuffled in his sleep when Akira put both hands on him, finding comfort in the rise and fall of his little body. Ryuji rubbed the back of his neck. “So you’re not fightin’? Or, I dunno…”

“No.” Akira doubted Yusuke could maintain a state of ‘fighting’ with anybody. “Thanks for worrying.”

Ryuji had never been good at hiding his emotions, and his doubtful grimace was all too telling. Akira turned back to his homework so he wouldn’t have to see it, skin prickling with heat. “I’ve known you a long time, man. I just wanna make sure Yusuke’s not doin’ anything weirder’n usual.”

Akira took a careful breath, steadying his voice. “He’s not forcing me into anything.”

“Well yeah. He wouldn’t—well, I dunno, he can get pretty intense sometimes.”

“It’s not a problem.”

Ryuji sighed, heavily enough to make Morgana stir again. “Guess it wouldn’t be. Just, if you ever wanna talk…” He trailed off, muttered to himself, and flung the pillow back in place with a wince. “Well, don’t study too hard, alright? I gotta get to bed.”

He trudged out of the room with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and Akira turned back to his phone. But if the ghost touches your soul too, he deleted. I concede, he typed instead, and threw himself in bed.

 

* * *

 

**[Phantom Thieves]**

**Futaba** : alright yall whos here  
**Futaba** : not naming names but i think some of us should come clean  
**Futaba** : about important stuff  
**Futaba** : like who wed bone

 **Haru** : Oh my

 **Makoto** : Hm.

 **Ann** : im here for this

 **Futaba** : so just to break the ice ill go first! im straight!

_Several people are typing…_

**Ann** : um

 **Haru** : Ah

 **Ann** : its kinda not ok to just ask about that stuff

 **Makoto** : I’m sure it isn’t your intention, but you’re being a bit insensitive.

 **Futaba** : huh what?!

 **Yusuke** : I am not interested in your sexual orientation

 **Ann** : yea i thot u meant like crushes!!  
**Ann** : wow yusuke

 **Futaba** : just bc youve taken a vow of celibacy doesnt mean the rest of us cant express ourselves INARI

 **Ann** : anyway yea what makoto said  
**Ann** : but we kno u didnt mean it like that! <3

 **Makoto** : What if someone’s not comfortable answering? They’ll just stand out if everyone else answers.

 **Ann** : ya plus it doesnt rly make a diff u kno? ull find out if u need to! (-;

 **Futaba** : GUYS what the hell whats with this tag team  
**Futaba** : i just want to learn more about my wonderful friends!??

 **Yusuke** : I have done no such thing

 **Ann** : well sometimes ppl just arent emotionally ready to share that stuff yet so it can be rly stressful if ppl ask

 **Makoto** : Or they may still be figuring it out. Not everyone is sure.

 **Futaba** : what  
**Futaba** : maybe this is a dumb question but  
**Futaba** : How

 **Ann** : actually some ppl dont figure it out til theyre already married w kids or super old

 **Futaba** : WHAT

 **Ann** : yea! so i think its better if noone answers so noone has to feel pressured <3

 **Futaba** : this is nuts there are so many articles about this exact thing  
**Futaba** : i thought everyone just sorta knew?

 **Ann** : if u want i can pm good info linx

 **Futaba** : UH YEA? please

 **Ann** : ofc!

 **Yusuke** : If it’s not a bother, I’d like to see them as well. I’ve never c

 **Futaba** : macklemore fuckin killed him

 **Yusuke** : Considered this perspective before. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.

 **Ann** : ofc ofc!!!! (:

 **Yusuke** : What is mackerel more?

 **Futaba** : basically updog

 **Yusuke** : I’m unfamiliar with up dog

 **Futaba** : you continue to disappoint me  
**Futaba** : UHH JUST SAYING i love you all no matter what ;-;  
**Futaba** : sorry… i had no idea it was such a big deal

 **Yusuke** : H

 **Ann** : <3333333 dwdw!! no harm done

 **Haru** : It’s alright futaba!

 **Haru** : I’m sure everyone is happy you’re being so understanding

 **Ryuji** : cool im also str8

 **Haru** : …

 **Futaba** : o

 **Yusuke** : What does that say

 **Ann** : ryuji!!! come on!!!!

 **Ryuji** : shit wasnt done readin my bad  
**Ryuji** : backlog  
**Ryuji** : sorry…

 **Ann** : eyeroll

 **Futaba** : makoto why have you been typing so long  
**Futaba** : im scared

 

* * *

 

Akira woke to the following: a wall of text the size of a senior thesis from Makoto, a text from Futaba apologizing for asking about Yusuke’s interest in men, a voicemail wherein Morgana was forced to apologize for sharing “private information” (false), three separate invitations for the day he’d have to decline.

As soon as he was fully awake, he was going to make the trip to Leblanc just to steal back his stupid cat.

 

* * *

 

Their _actual_ second date was at a club in Shinjuku, where Akira would have been anyway. Lala would be at Crossroads all night, but he was anxious about running into her somehow, even though she'd allowed him the night off without even asking why.

Akira wondered if he could get away with wearing the all-black outfit again, since Yusuke wore the same clothes to at least 80% of their meet-ups, but in the end, his desire to be a hot date overrode his laziness. There wasn’t much he was willing to do about his hair, but he unearthed his red frames, lint-rolled a tight white shirt with an edgy decal, and dug out his red kicks and a belt to match. He’d probably embarrass himself again, but at least he’d look good. He still wore the cat hair jeans though.

In an effort to be dately, he headed straight to Leblanc so they could pregame on fancy imported rum and discuss clubbing etiquette, mostly the latter. He was wondering if he should’ve given Yusuke the benefit of the doubt to save the train fare when Yusuke opened the front door wearing a screen print disaster.

“Ah, you’re early.”

It took a few beats for Akira to respond, busy as he was trying to make sense of the galaxy tights Yusuke was wearing under a bright purple tank top that reached halfway down his thighs. He stood aside, and Akira entered the familiar cafe on autopilot.

“I’ve always admired you in darker colors, but the bold design will certainly be striking under a blacklight. It flatters your musculature.”

“Is that what you’re wearing,” Akira said, unable to stop himself.

Yusuke smiled, adjusting his matching galaxy print headband. He was wearing a rainbow bracelet. “Of course.”

“That’s,” he started. He looked around Leblanc. The warm, familiar interior, the comforting smell of coffee and spice, and the gentle visage of Sayuri juxtaposed wildly against the tacky outfit. He supposed the look suited Yusuke as a person, even if it showed off his skinny arms and flattered nothing. Yusuke was taking a moment to frame Akira between his pointers and thumbs, as he often did, flashing his blue-tipped nails. If he could still manage to look hot in such an ensemble, he might as well rock it. Maybe this was just jealousy mixing with the usual cocktail of emotions he got whenever he looked Yusuke up and down. “You look good. Here.”

Akira pulled his arm from behind his back, feeling stupid and cheesy and a bunch of other uncomfortable adjectives when Yusuke only gaped at the modest bouquet of orange carnations. “For the shop?”

“For you.” He nudged them closer when Yusuke made no move to take them, already feeling himself starting to sweat. Yusuke wore a curious expression as he finally held out his hands to cradle the flare of the flowers. Akira watched him stare, saw his gaze soften as he lifted a finger to trace the crimped petals. He hoped Yusuke was remembering the flower he had worn in his hair just a few days before, took it for the apology it was halfway meant to be.

“Lock up before you head out.”

Akira shot into the air like a startled cat. Sojiro looked at him, leaning against the corner wall of the kitchen nook with a knowing grin, as Akira’s hand clutched at his racing heart. A huff of laughter, and Sojiro shook his head, slapping a wet towel to the counter as he resumed his cleaning ritual. “You kids have fun tonight.”

“We certainly mean to.” Yusuke smiled sweetly and held the cut flowers to his chest, and Akira did a full body turn to avoid eye contact. God.

As soon as they got up the stairs, Akira made straight for the potted plant, determined to distract himself. The soil was damp, but the leaves were a bit wilted. Knowing Akira was on his way must have reminded Yusuke of its existence after a period of neglect. There was a strip of paper taped to the wall behind it, a list of dates the plant had been tended. Haru had punctuated the most recent date, too long ago, with a lumpy smiley face in purple pen. Akira set to measuring out some fertilizer, grateful for the plant’s hardiness, and let his hands work.

“Perhaps it’s nostalgia, but I always admire you in this environment. I’d like if I could see you here more often.”

Akira turned, task complete, and thoughtlessly dragged his dirty hands down the legs of his pants. The orange flowers had been propped in a drinking glass, one Sojiro used downstairs for serving fountain soda, balanced on a stack of heavy books. He smiled at the sight of them, and then blanched as he remembered, too late, that he was wiping dirt on his date clothes. At least they hadn’t been clean to start with, he thought, resigning himself to his grime.

So much of the room’s space was stacked tall with Yusuke’s supplies, looking more lived-in than Akira had ever managed of it during his year here. The desk was piled with books and binders, the bed half-covered in scattered papers and paint tubes, tarps were bunched in corners, canvases at various stages of completeness were everywhere. In the center of it, Yusuke regarded him with a hard, critical expression that said he was deep in thought.

His plans to move in had been a surprise. Yusuke had asked for Akira’s permission to inhabit the room like it was some kind of bride-to-be, had calligraphed a three page letter on washi paper and mailed it to him. It contained wistful accounts of the summer days they had spent reading and watching movies, a humble admittance of how it would always be Akira’s room in Yusuke’s heart, and far too many asides about how much Yusuke missed him. Akira wasn’t sure when exactly his crush first developed, but that letter had rattled Akira’s heart right out of its cage, made him hope more tangibly than ever even as he sent a meager text of approval with bitter jealousy.

For everyone involved, the situation was ideal. All Yusuke had to do was work a few mornings and afternoons during the week, and Futaba had a close friend within arm’s reach, Sojiro was free to spend more time with Futaba and drive her to and from her research programs, and Yusuke had more money from his scholarship to spend on food and art supplies. He knew logically that Yusuke both needed and deserved this support, and wanted him to have it.

But he was hundreds of kilometers away, cut off from the vivid, brilliant life he had lived as Joker and stuck in a town with more cows than people. He missed the city, missed his friends, missed Leblanc and the shelter it had been during some of the most difficult times in his life. With every update Yusuke shared of his move-in, Akira was wishing he weren’t so far, wishing they could inhabit the space together, wishing he could express how much Yusuke meant to him too.

That had been less than halfway through their year apart, and then he was back in Tokyo. Any subsequent attempts to broadcast his interest were met with a brick wall in spite of every tender word Yusuke once had for him, words that had helped keep his eyes forward toward the new year during the time he was trapped in Kobe. And it was Yusuke’s answer, so he accepted it, put those feelings on a shelf to wither out of sight. But Akira was becoming increasingly, uncomfortably certain that whatever feelings he had once cultivated were budding and blooming anew.

Now, they were curled up on the sofa, sipping rum and talking about everything: internships, coffee liqueur, hardcover books, Falling Awake. It was a more than pleasant precursor to a date, and Akira thought of how real it felt, even with the reality of Yusuke’s future relationships looming so close. From where he sat, he could see the tube of lipstick Yusuke had bought on the day of the gallery, propped upright on the desk, still looking new and untouched and giftable. Yusuke had looked at it when thinking about love. Akira wasn’t sure what he was thinking, looking at it now. He sat on the sofa with his knees tucked under his chin, listening as Yusuke glowed and faltered and tried to articulate his shy excitement for the future.

“Of course I’m not expecting—not right away. Sometimes, love comes slowly. So I hear.”

Akira hummed, not certain himself, and sipped his drink.

 

* * *

 

As Akira had expected, Yusuke got a text five minutes after they arrived from his group of friends, saying they’d arrive in another twenty. Yusuke seemed disturbed, but took Akira’s word that it was normal social behavior, and accepted the fruity pink drink Akira pressed into his hands. Akira hoped they looked like a couple.

This turned out to be an ambitious wish; Yusuke spent most of the time flitting off into the crowd, eying everyone up and down, and dedicating a lengthy diatribe to the nude screen dancers for not giving more consideration to the composition of their silhouettes. He was enamored by the way people moved with each other in the semidarkness, the way the building throbbed with the beat of the music, the way spotlights trawled the dance floor. It was all Akira could do to keep Yusuke in his sights, but Akira’s white shirt was a beacon under the blacklight, and Yusuke easily reappeared at his side each time, eyes wide in wonder whenever the fireworks of colored lights roved over him.

Akira bought them drinks until Yusuke was a little looser, leaning into him pliantly and muttering something about how nice he smelled. Amorous self restraint while drunk had never been Akira’s strong point, but it was enough that Yusuke had stopped running away from him. Eventually, they managed to meet up with his friends, who turned out to be a lot more lively than Akira had anticipated. He often imagined Yusuke’s school full of more Yusukes in different shapes and sizes. It was easy to forget Yusuke had such a singular personality when he was almost the whole of Akira’s experience with artsy types.

Just before they were swallowed by the group, Yusuke leaned close, spoke directly into Akira’s ear so he was certain to be heard. “I’ll submit myself to your judgment tonight, so please guide me.”

Akira had prepared for greetings to be followed by a few awkward minutes in their company before he and Yusuke split off naturally, so was surprised by the warmth of their welcome. The lot swarmed around the two of them, cheerful and drunk, lauding Yusuke’s debut onto the club scene and introducing themselves with friendly hands on Akira’s chest and back. Yusuke started out characteristically stiff, but Akira took his good faith seriously, chipped away at his apprehension of the dance floor with words of encouragement, kept him smiling, made him laugh, pushed water into his hands between songs to keep him hydrated.

It quickly became clear how close the group was to one another. They were as seamless as a school of fish, sipping from one another’s glasses and trading dance partners at a moment’s notice. They shuffled Yusuke and Akira around with equal ease, laughing warmly whenever they managed to catch one unawares—Akira would be spun out of one person’s arms and return to a second’s, or else he’d be hoisted bodily away from Yusuke into a complicated swing maneuver, unable to reorient himself for several seconds after landing.

It was wholesome and boisterous and as enjoyable as a club experience could be. The half dozen voice students caused an uproar when they started harmonizing louder than the thunderous club music, Yusuke’s savage criticism of someone’s makeup failed to cause any offense when it was drowned out by the noise, and a foreign dancer taller than even Yusuke taught them both some basic steps while he wasn’t doubled over laughing at them. At one point, Akira and Yusuke were pulled clean apart, and Akira was able to watch Yusuke get dipped nearly to the floor by a woman half his size. Akira stole him back, invigorated by Yusuke’s hot laughter in his hair as they watched her get swept away by the tall foreigner in turn. The alcohol and music and revolving door of companions left Akira high on adrenaline when he pulled Yusuke outside with the smokers, breathless with laughter and in need of whatever fresh air the brisk spring night could give him.

It’d be a nice time for a blockbuster kiss. Yusuke was flushed and breathing heavy, hair in disarray, looking so satisfied and happy. Akira led him to the balcony railing by the hand, and Yusuke let him. Here, they were out of earshot of the other club-goers. Grinning up at him, Akira backed into the corner of the metal bars, pulling Yusuke to the space in front of him, trapping himself there. His heart was pounding. The night air was sweet. In front of him, Yusuke was beautiful. “Having fun?”

Yusuke looked down at him, euphoric expression fading into something unreadable. He extricated his arm, braced his hands against the railing on either side of Akira. The position caged him in, and Akira nearly shook with anticipation, leaning into him. He was so close. But Yusuke closed his eyes, tense. It took him a moment to speak. “I believe I’m experiencing an adrenaline rush.”

“That’s not a bad thing.” Akira thought of pressing his thumb to the new furrow in Yusuke’s brow until it went smooth. His skin would be soft, tacky with sweat. “Do you need to sit down?”

He hesitated, eyes slipping open but focusing on the wood floor beneath them. “It’s passing. Just give me a moment.”

Akira’s hands curled at his sides, the metal bars at his back digging into him. “I can wait.”

He stood there, breathing, arms locked in place, not allowing Akira to slip away. It occurred to him that Yusuke might be building himself up to something, finding courage. Akira’s hand lifted, hesitated, strayed tentatively to Yusuke’s waist. Yusuke lifted his face, startled.

In the year Akira had been back in Tokyo, they’d probably never been this close. His other hand came up to tug Yusuke closer, eager to feel his warmth. He wanted to get his arms around Yusuke and just hold him, shove his face into Yusuke’s neck, even if he did smell like someone else’s perfume. What Akira did do was cup his hand around the back of Yusuke’s neck, threading into his hair, willing him to come down so they could kiss, maybe, finally—

What Yusuke did was raise his arm between them, barring Akira from getting closer like metal gate slamming shut. Floundering, eyes wide, he took a step back. He made a sound like he was being strangled, and his voice cut.

Akira dropped his arms. Cold air flooded the space warmth could have been. “Sorry. Checking for a fever.”

Yusuke turned away, said something that got swept away by the wind, turned back. “That’s not to say,” Yusuke started, stopped. “Don’t you think—haven’t you been somewhat—” he broke off, dropping his face into his own hand, and took another step back. A shuttering breath, shoulders rising and falling with a tremor. Akira watched the air puff out between parted lips. “Forgive me. I’m overreacting. I’m not accustomed to drinking this much.”

“Just relax a minute.” He lowered himself to the floor in example so he wouldn’t have to touch Yusuke again, and Yusuke slid after him, leaning against the metal balusters with an arms-length between them. They had been dancing for hours, and Akira was nearly sober. Yusuke would be the same. “Maybe vertigo.”

Akira watched the balcony as Yusuke breathed into his knees. Most people paid them no attention, turned away to admire the view of city lights, or else the moon where it hung low on the horizon, but a few curious eyes glanced in their direction, gesturing with concern. It felt like he’d shaken his head at a hundred wordless offers of assistance before Yusuke raised his head again. Akira’s poor attempt at a smile was returned by a curt nod and averted eyes. “Sorry. I’ve composed myself. There was something I wanted to ask you about.”

He drew up his feet, listened as Yusuke talked a bit about the people he’d met up with. He had only expected to meet with the three fine arts students from his classes, the women who had extended the invitation tonight, all of whom were very beautiful and interesting and friendly, despite certain unforgivable quirks. The poignant nature of the topic switch was not lost on him.

“They all seem great.”

He idly tugged a thread of his jeans as Yusuke nodded, face dropping into uncertainty. “None of them are wholly objectionable. One in particular has… invited me along to other small gatherings, though I’ve had to decline most of them due to prior engagements and assignment deadlines.”

“Hm.”

“I think she is the most interested at the moment, but I’ve weighed all of their good and bad points, and to summarize, I don’t have any bias between the three.” Yusuke drew up, shaking off some of the soured mood with his usual obstinacy. “You’ve been oddly silent on the subject, so I’m curious as to your opinion on whether they would make appropriate subjects. Or perhaps you’ve gotten a read on their personalities by now, and can advise me on compatibility. I hear horoscopes are reliable means of investigating such matters as well.”

Akira couldn’t pick them out of the crowd if his life depended on it. He didn’t want to try, either. “So we’re done.”

There was a bitter relief in it. His hand still tingled from when it had pushed into Yusuke’s hair. At some point it had clenched tightly without his permission, as if to preserve the sensation of it sliding up the base of Yusuke’s chilled neck. He let his fingers uncurl, scrubbed it against the leg of his jeans in one rough movement.

He’d gone too far, he knew. Yusuke, aware of his crush, has been consistently skittish, oblivious, or closed to anything Akira could possibly interpret as romantic, even to the absolute detriment of their progress. As much as he wanted Akira’s help, he seemed equally afraid of what that would entail, and Akira had justified those fears. Akira knew he’d be furious later, furious that Yusuke would put him in a situation where it would be impossible for Akira to come out unscathed.

But that wasn’t fair; Akira had accepted the request, and had failed to approach this objectively, to the detriment of them both. He wasn’t sure how else he could have approached it though, human as he was. His greatest accomplishment in these past weeks had been proving he couldn’t reach whatever corner Yusuke kept his heart. Not even during practice. He wasn’t strong enough to decline a free pass to getting closer, but it was long past the time he should have cut his losses and backed out.

Yusuke did not seem to be on the same wavelength. “Pardon?”

“The,” Akira gestured between the two of them, “you know. The dating thing.”

Yusuke sat, mute, for a moment of incomprehension. As he spoke his voice took on a sharpening edge of anxiety. “Were you always going to leave me at this stage? It’s my impression that nothing gets easier from here.”

“Leave? No, I just thought—you’re looking to date one of them.” Akira stared blankly as Yusuke flushed and muttered something that got drowned out by the distant thrum of bass. Incredulity hardened his words. “And I’m—making you uncomfortable. Clearly.”

“That’s—you’re not. I was just taken by surprise and I have little experience with alcohol. You also don’t generally—” He seemed at a loss, flustered by the growing frustration aimed at him, but cut off his rambling. “Is it not customary to see it through until at least…” he gestured meaninglessly, hand finding his face again, hiding his reddened cheeks and trying to tame his alarm. “Just until we establish mutual interest? To give me advice and direction?”

“With the girl? What, passing you off like a baton?” At Yusuke’s curious nod, Akira turned his face away, the instinct to hide his sudden flare of anger working faster than his mouth. He cursed into empty space, hoped the wind and the smokers talking over the club music drowned it out or swept it away. When he looked back with his jaw set hard, Yusuke started back, eyes wide. “This is fucked up, Yusuke.”

Yusuke clenched his fists in his lap, stricken. “It was my understanding it was not an uncommon favor to ask a friend. Maybe I was mistaken and I overstepped.” He almost couldn’t be heard over the din.

Akira took a shaky breath, determined to explain this plainly, to not upset either of them any more than they had already upset one another. “It is. You’re overstepping.”

“I see. That’s… very regrettable.” Yusuke exhaled at the straightforward response, shoulders relaxing even as his face crumpled. “I wish you would have said so at the outset, but I apologize. Truly. I can see how upset you are.”

“I wanted to help.” Akira cleared his throat, crossed his arms. “I got carried away. But I do want you to have a good experience. Not just because I like you. It’s… you know. What you were saying at the gallery. I’m glad you trust me with it.”

Yusuke straightened against the metal bars of the railing. “Yes, I… recall our conversation, but…” His fingers tugged at the ankle of his leggings, and he paused another beat, processing or hesitating. “What do you mean by ‘like’?”

“Liked,” Akira corrected. “You definitely said it. I remember.”

“Did I? I know I referenced the fact that you’re my greatest supporter, perhaps in more or less words.”

“Yeah…” It had been a few weeks ago. Akira had replayed the conversation in his mind so many times, how it could have gone differently, that the details had become somewhat muddled. He was certain though; he couldn’t forget how shaken he’d been by it. “I asked what you meant by personal interest.” A dawning terror began prickling up his spine, Yusuke’s words having jarred his memory. “You said I’ve always supported you, with an intense look on your face, like you were trying to imply you knew I—yeah, without saying it.”

“I wouldn’t leave any observation regarding you to implication.”

Akira’s heart hammered as he dug his fingers into the material of his jeans. Yusuke was the worst at being discreet or tactful. It wasn’t unusual for him to insist Akira buy new home appliances for Yusuke’s own convenience. He barked demands at complete strangers, and freely spoke of his dismal financial situation, sometimes to the discomfort of even close friends. He’d tried to tell one of his club friends that her makeup was unflattering and garish. _Implied without saying it_ was his antithesis. “Then why have you been so jumpy with me?”

“Jumpy,” he echoed. “Akira, you may not have noticed, but you have been uncommonly irrespective of my personal space, to say the least. It felt inappropriate, considering what you had been helping me with. I’ve been meaning to ask about it.”

“Hold on.” Akira reached up, realizing belatedly that his red glasses were no longer on his face. He must have lost them when someone was flipping him around midair. He felt a bit as if he were still being flipped around. A cold dread made his tongue heavy. “Tell me again. What am I helping you with?”

Yusuke’s hands twisted in his lap, and his eyes flickered to the door that would lead them back into the club. “I’m not perfectly clear on the nature of our miscommunication,” he admitted. “I’ve found the past few weeks very informative, if somewhat baffling, but considering the negative effect on you, of course I wouldn’t ask you to continue. To answer your question, I wanted your help finding a romantic partner. The book I read referred to the role as a ‘wingman’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there are three arcs in this fic, 3 chapters each, so this marks the end of the first arc... lol.


	4. good & plenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akira is really trying here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay getting this chapter up! when I last posted (in--september holy fuck) I had no idea even what country I'd be in by the end of the year (STRESS?!?) and now I have a new apartment, a new job, and a new cat! and I also visited my family in the US for the first time in 2 years! so!!! I've had a lot going on lol!!!! all good things fortunately but it definitely knocked me out of the writing groove for a while
> 
> this isn't relevant to this chapter but I picked the title 'falling awake' bc it's cheesy but now the fic is like half-serious so I just. I know it's cheeseball and I regret. idk every time my hands have to type it in the middle of a serious moment I'm just "why" so sorry about that maybe I'll change it later JHGSJG
> 
> also tbd but I might edit the whole dang fic to use amamiya ren. it's such a pretty name and the longer I use it the more I prefer it. also I keep almost typing it and there's still a lot of story left so there's that...
> 
> shout out to aster for letting me yell at him btw it probably would've been another six months until this chapter got posted LOL
> 
> please let me know if a chunk of text is missing uh if I don't post it today I won't have time until friday so I'm just setting it free
> 
> anyway if you're still with me thanks for waiting! WHO'S READY FOR P5DSN!!!!!

This crush wasn’t new, but he had never imagined that knowing about it would make Yusuke uncomfortable. And Yusuke did know about it. Attempted kiss aside, Akira had said it outright—there was no humoring the possibility that Yusuke ‘just didn’t get it’. He wasn’t an idiot.

Yusuke had been out of touch for the past two weeks. He was, apparently, too busy to reply to texts. Akira shouldn’t have been so upset about this. It gave him a chance to lick his wounds out of sight, reestablish his dignity, but he’d never been good at leaving well enough alone. Being unable to bridge the gap had him tense with anxiety.

“That table can’t get any cleaner, Honey.”

Akira raised his head and halted the mechanical movements of his arm. He had no idea how long he’d been at it, but Lala was standing in the doorway to the back room, arms crossed as if she’d been observing him with that piercing look for some time now.

“Sit. That little cat of yours waiting outside?”

He nodded, reluctantly sinking into the booth as she disappeared to the front of the bar. He didn’t have the energy to put up even a token fight. He wanted to talk about it, but he didn’t know how—the thought of letting someone else handle it sounded too good. And at least Lala wouldn’t sigh and say, “Well, that’s just Yusuke,” like Ann had.

She returned with a tumbler full of some amber liquid and Morgana at her heels. “You’re worrying everyone,” Morgana chided, hopping into Akira’s lap.

Akira covered Morgana’s ears with his hands, petting them flat and making him look stupid. The fact that Morgana didn’t even try to stop Akira from squishing his face around proved the truth of his words. He sighed, guilty, and hugged Morgana’s pliant body, which only rumbled a sigh in resignation.

Lala placed the glass on his side of the table with the opposite hand holding back the sleeve of her kimono, and Akira eyed it. “Not rum?”

“Whiskey,” she confirmed. Akira reached for it gratefully, and Lala settled into the opposite end of the booth with a cigarette she produced from a metal case that she slid back into her obi. “You’ve been moping since you took that night off. You know you’re supposed to have fun when you’re not at work, don’t you?”

Akira took a breath into the bottom of the glass. Morgana settled into his lap, kneading at him supportively. There was something to be said about your best friend being a therapy cat—the animal affection and Lala’s motherly concern loosened his tongue, but he had no idea where to begin. “I fucked up, maybe.”

“Bad breakup?”

Akira huffed a laugh, adjusting so Morgana could cuddle into the crook of one arm while he held his drink with the other. Sipping at it distracted from the lump in his throat. “We were never dating.”

It was like she read the rest of the story in his eyes. Akira looked away. “But you were still serious about it.”

It wasn’t a question. “He freaked out and backed off after I made a move. We haven’t really talked since.”

Morgana’s tail flicked. He’d been sticking to Akira more closely than usual, but Morgana was just as bad at talking about feelings, and he hadn’t pushed for details. Lala sighed, shook her head. “Sounds like a closet case.”

Akira cringed at the stab of guilt the words elicited. He didn’t even want to speculate. “I don’t think it’s like that.”

“Oh?”

“He never really…” Akira trailed off, biting his tongue. Never really _what_? Acted interested? Let Akira flirt? On that balcony, Yusuke had been crowding him. Akira had put him there, but he hadn’t moved away. Yusuke couldn’t’ve been oblivious to that atmosphere. And more than that, there were so many little _things_. There was a reason Akira once got his hopes up, and kept getting his hopes up, and finally decided he was going to ignore all of it so he didn’t have to wonder anymore. God, but he missed those days of resolution.

He set both hands to petting down Morgana’s back, and was nudged encouragingly in response. But Akira didn’t want to think too hard about it. That’s what got him in this awful situation in the first place.

When he trailed off, Lala tutted at him. “Don’t tell me you would make a move on a guy who wasn’t giving you a green light. That’s not you.”

“I thought he was,” Akira hedged, feeling protective of Yusuke for reasons he couldn’t articulate. “But he’s a little weird. I probably read it wrong. Or he read me wrong, and I should’ve…”

“Weirdos need love just like anyone else, Honey.” She stared at him over her cigarette. It wasn’t a searching gaze; she understood what he couldn’t say. Akira averted his eyes, focusing on the way his hands moved over Morgana’s fur, the little bumps of his spine. “More than anyone else, most of the time.”

Morgana rumbled in soft agreement.

He couldn’t hold back a sour little laugh. To think he’d be listening to someone else talk about Yusuke’s love prospects when Akira had been agonizing over them in silence for the past few weeks. “Yeah, he does. He wants me to help him get a girlfriend.”

She hummed, a sound heavy with deliberation. Akira took a generous gulp of whiskey. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

* * *

**[Yusuke Kitagawa]**

**Akira** : i know you’re busy but let me know you’re alive when you have time

 **Yusuke** : Sorry. As you’ve said, I’ve been caught up in my work.  
**Yusuke** : I’ve fallen far behind schedule as a result of recent distractions, and have been creatively blocked. I’ve been trying to catch up.

 **Akira** : don’t work too hard. you wanna meet this week?

 **Yusuke** : I can’t spare much time until I finish these assignments. It has to be next week. I’ll let you know when I’m available.

 **Akira** : alright

He stared at his phone, prickling with dissatisfaction. Did Yusuke even want to meet at all? Ever again, even?

Before he could talk himself out of it, he forced his fingers to move.

 **Akira** : i’m really sorry about the other night  
**Akira** : i completely misunderstood something and that’s why i was angry. you didn’t do anything wrong  
**Akira** : and sorry for making you uncomfortable i won’t do anything like that again

 **Yusuke** : That’s kind of you. There is nothing to forgive.  
**Yusuke** : I know I upset you. If you would explain how I misrepresented the situation, I will be sure not to make the same mistake in the future.

 **Akira** : it’s really nothing. it was my fault and it won’t happen again

 **Yusuke** : I see. In any case, I apologize for my social inadequacies. If there is any way I can make it up to you, I would be happy to take action immediately.

 _You’re not inadequate_ , Akira typed, sending it before he could continue the thought. _You’re…_

He shut off his phone, determined not to think about it. Morgana padded into the room, hopped onto the bed and curled up. Akira rolled over, curling up himself, and tried to sleep.

* * *

It was a week and a half before Yusuke remembered him, or stopped putting off their meeting, or whatever he was doing. Three and a half weeks total without seeing Yusuke. It gave Akira plenty of time to wallow, so there was that at least.

He was too much of an idiot for the solutions to his problems to be very complex, so Lala’s advice was essentially _tell it to him straight, get closure, lay it to rest either way_. Plus something about being too young and handsome to be so tragically resigned about his love life. That one, at least, he could agree with. Morgana too, once he got over the awkward silence he’d been sitting in for most of the night.

It hadn’t really solved any of his problems, and explaining how he’d jumped to the wildest possible conclusion on the vaguest inkling of a hint had exhausted him to tears, but he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to face Yusuke today if Lala hadn’t cornered him and given him space to talk. Akira generally tried to give the impression that he had his shit together even when the world was literally falling to pieces around him, but sometimes he wished his friends would bully the truth out of him more often. They really had more faith in him than he strictly deserved. Lucky for him, Lala didn’t.

So here he was: freshly assured of the limits on his relationship with Yusuke, and ready to carry on as if nothing happened at all. Akira hadn’t recovered from that night at the club, couldn’t imagine what Yusuke was thinking about him at this point, and had settled into a sort of quiet hysteria regarding his resurfaced feelings. Yusuke’s blatant rejection, coupled with the private devastation of misinterpreting Yusuke’s request of him in the first place, launched him so deep into the realm of ruinous humiliation that he had essentially come out on the other side of the universe, stable and resigned.

Yusuke’s invitation was to a bakery near his campus, and when Akira entered he immediately spotted Yusuke sitting alone with a book and his school supplies. Across from him, a bag was piled into a chair, a covered canvas propped against it to ward anyone against dragging it away before Akira arrived. The cafe was packed with students from the nearby university, some of whom were waiting to sit down and shooting Yusuke dirty looks.

It was always endearing, how rude Yusuke could be without even thinking about it. Especially when it was for Akira’s sake. He shifted the bag to the floor, the canvas behind Yusuke’s chair against the wall, and slid into the seat gratefully.

Yusuke offered a careful smile and closed his text, sandwiching a notebook and his pencil inside. “Hello, Akira. It’s good to see you.”

“Hey.” On the table were a half-eaten pastry and a cold mug of coffee. “Were you waiting long?”

Yusuke packed his homework in his school bag. A gentle rain pelted the window behind him. Akira tried to focus on that instead of the way Yusuke’s hair fell into his eyes as he reached under the table. “Not at all. I deliberately arrived ahead of our scheduled meeting time to secure a table and study. It gets somewhat crowded, as you can see.”

Long before arriving, Akira had promised Yusuke to treat him. It was something he usually tried to do anyway, and in the wake of their not-fight, not-breakup, he had wanted this outing to be as normal as possible. If one thing changed, others might follow, and Akira was terrified of them drifting apart over his own mistake. He hadn’t meant anything by the offer. Nothing flirtatious, anyway.

It wasn’t as if buying Yusuke some bakery junk was breaking the bank, or had to be date-like. Akira stood again. “Cool. Actually, I’m gonna,” he gestured toward the counter, almost smacking a man in the face as he walked past. Why was it so damn crowded? “Do you want anything? I told you I’d—yeah.”

Yusuke bit a thin lip, incapable of rejecting a direct offer of food. “It’s really not necessary.”

“I’ll pick something to share,” he said, and didn’t wait for a response before shuffling off to the cashier.

He couldn’t say why it bothered him so much that Yusuke bought his own food, except that Yusuke usually wouldn’t. He’d brush off Akira’s offers, get some free tap water, and help himself when Akira just happened to buy more than he could eat alone. That was their status quo.

And alright, his vague text apology hadn’t been enough. Yusuke had accepted it too easily, and things still weren’t back to normal. Akira may have been able to do a lot with words, but where his own feelings were concerned, he clammed up. It wasn’t like there were many other ways to show he was sorry.

Well, he could get Yusuke a girlfriend, he supposed. Repent for wanting to fill that role by filling it with someone else.

Akira wasn’t usually one for retail therapy, but he returned to the table with two mugs of fresh coffee, a plastic order number, and a receipt the length of his forearm. Hopefully Yusuke was hungry. Akira asked him about his classes while the scones or whatever warmed up, doing his best to seem he wasn’t unraveling at the seams from the inside.

The last time they’d seen each other, Yusuke had been in his hands, leaning over him, sweaty and glowing and looking ready for a tryst, and for several entire seconds, Akira really thought he was living in a universe where Yusuke might lean in and kiss him. He’d done a great job at not thinking about any of these things while Yusuke had been out of sight for the past few weeks. But Yusuke was in front of him now, smiling in his reserved way, warming his perpetually cold hands on the new mug of coffee, and all Akira wanted to do was reach across the table and cover Yusuke’s hands with his own.

Why couldn’t it just be about physical attraction? Akira could’ve handled that definitely.

But this was priority: Yusuke needed to know that nothing between them had to change, and Akira was keeping himself in check. Akira could handle rejection, their friendship was more important, and Akira never wanted to violate Yusuke’s boundaries. And he wasn’t so affected that he couldn’t help Yusuke out like he always did.

 _It was a misunderstanding_ , Akira had said again, hiding at the other end of a phone call. _You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m good to continue the wingman thing, and am not in any way emotionally compromised. Yes, Yusuke, really._

Two truths and a lie.

Akira really needed a life coach.

* * *

It wasn’t as if Akira was suffering. Talking to Yusuke was as comfortable as it always was, once Akira got into their usual groove, and they had no shortage of topics to kick back and forth after spending so much time apart. Yusuke’s school would be hosting a handmade crafts fair, Akira would be interning with Yoshida in the coming semester, and Ryuji’s mother and her husband were moving into a bigger apartment. The new apartment would have enough space that Ryuji could move back in with his mother if he wanted to, and Ryuji was being cagey about it, so Akira figured he’d be apartment hunting pretty soon.

They were in a cozy cafe together on a rainy day, Yusuke was helping himself to the massive pile of warm pastries the server dropped off, and Akira had spent several long minutes convincing Yusuke he definitely was not expected to vacate Leblanc’s attic under any circumstances, even if Akira did need to move. It really did feel normal, in the best way. Only one thing kept it from being perfect.

“Well, what did you want to discuss today?” Yusuke tugged at his hair, convinced of their usual rapport and ready to get down to business. “I’ve gathered you think we should enter the next stage, but you haven’t explained beyond that.”

The next stage, more like finally getting on task. Akira exhaled shakily. No more misunderstandings. As much as the balcony revelation had stripped him of his dignity, at least this job was a safer one. He’d stand by like a traffic controller, leading Yusuke down the right path to a successful and happy relationship with someone else. None of his own feelings would ever come into play. Easy. “We’re gonna figure out your type, then we can take it from there.”

“Ah, narrowing down potential options. That seems wise.”

“Right, so.” Akira gestured vaguely, almost knocking over his coffee mug. “Girls. What makes you interested?”

“Well,” Yusuke began, and drained the remainder of his cold coffee while he thought. Akira stared at the full, hot mug at his elbow. “Usually, I can’t immediately visualize the end product, but when she stirs my desire to capture her image—”

“Wait, Yusuke, do you want to date every girl you want to paint?”

He put a scandalized hand to his chest. Akira, the tactless troll. “No, of course not.”

“Okay. Okay, listen. When was the last time you wanted to uh,” Akira hid behind his coffee mug, “kiss someone?”

It was a normal question, Akira reminded himself. He was the wingman here, and needed to know what kind of people Yusuke was interested in kissing for research purposes. If Yusuke had a problem with that, then this would go nowhere fast, and better to find out sooner rather than later. Akira finally dragged his gaze from the dusty, scratch-marked floor to see what kind of expression Yusuke was making, wearing his sturdiest mask of calm.

Yusuke cleared his throat, self conscious over how long he’d had to think about it. “I can’t recall. Or rather, it’s a difficult question. How do I know such a desire is born from attraction to begin with? Such urges often get muddled, I imagine.”

Akira was fairly certain he had never in his life confused the desire to kiss someone with the desire to do anything else, except when he was first figuring out his sexuality. “Um.”

“As I’ve said before, I haven’t given myself time to think about this subject in the past. I don’t think I’m capable of detecting such nuances.”

Akira missed Morgana. He’d always been a lot better at genuinely decoding the feelings of others, instead of just bullshitting through a difficult conversation on instinct and luck. Then again, Morgana would sooner throw himself out into the rain then sit through this conversation. Akira closed his eyes, steeled himself, and opened them as a new, unflappable force of nature. Fine, Yusuke. Say good bye to nuance. “Real quick. Do you watch porn?”

“Do I— _excuse me_?”

“You watch it,” Akira forced out, regretting every decision he’d ever made, “right?”

Yusuke raised his brows, taking a sip of coffee and adopting the same thoughtful expression he wore when considering the finer points of a book or movie. Like Akira might make a valuable point, but he wasn’t quite convinced of it yet. “What about it?”

God if Akira knew! How was Yusuke acting so blase? How was this less offensive than asking if he wanted to date his muse fixations? Suddenly hyper-aware of the strangers surrounding them, he hid his face in his hand. “Um, what kind do you watch?”

“Well, it must have good lighting, certainly. I prefer less elaborate settings so I’m not distracted from the subjects themselves, though more creative environments have been inspiring in the past.” As he spoke, he tugged the paper lining off the bottom of a muffin and held it out. _Politely decline_ , said the half of his brain that bought it for Yusuke in the first place. _Let him feed you while he talks about porn_ , said the entire rest of him. He ripped off a piece and savored it. “It’s extremely valuable when there are multiple angles shot during a single scene, as well.”

“Valuable,” Akira echoed. That sure was one way of putting it. “Alright… but what sorts of—people? The—the stars, you know—” Interrupting with a trill of understanding, Yusuke hurried to reach into the bag on the floor at his side and extracted a heavy folder. The dread sank into Akira’s stomach like a lead weight. “Oh. Here, in the coffee house.”

In front of his very own eyes, Yusuke spread a collection of naked bodies between their coffee mugs and used napkins. The plate in the middle of the table holding their pastries and sandwiches slowly became engulfed by a wanton sea of contorted bodies. “Here is a collection I find particularly compelling,” he said, as if Akira were still alive to hear it.

At the very least, none of them were inherently pornographic. Unwilling to cover his face with his hands and scream, Akira required a long moment, contemplating Yusuke’s eager smile and rallying the very dregs of his self discipline. “She’s cute,” Akira offered at last, pointing to one at random. The girl had short hair and a mean smile, and finding this out for himself came at a steep price. He did not wake up today thinking he’d learn Yusuke not only walked around with a folder full of naked women, but would spread them out on a public coffee table with no prompting whatsoever. “Where’d these come from?”

“Various magazines.”

“Right. Yeah.” Akira took a deep breath. There was a small silver lining in the fact that no one around them seemed particularly bothered. Yusuke was surrounded by a pile of art supplies, and the cafe was just outside of an art school, after all. Though the concrete implications on Yusuke’s preferences were a very real disappointment. “Who’s number one?”

Yusuke looked confused by the thought, almost judgmental. “You can’t expect me to rank them.”

“Yusuke, I’m trying to—” A woman walked by, and Akira floated his hands above the table to convey his disengagement just in case she was on her way to complain about the unholy disturbance. “I’m trying to do my job as a wingman. Help me out.”

He looked absurdly blank on the purpose of such an exercise, but nodded his acceptance. Whatever. He’d get it eventually. Yusuke’s eyes scanned the table with intent, and because Akira’s weren’t allowed to do the same, he stared at Yusuke’s neat, furrowed brows and the crease that formed between them.

“I might say… her,” he decided, lifting a picture and prompting Akira to slam his wrist back to the table in a panic. “Please, it’ll crease!”

The brief glimpse informed him that Yusuke had chosen the same girl Akira had complimented. It was enough to go on, and the relief was palpable. “You can put these away now.”

Yusuke obeyed, returning each girl to the folder and stacking them in perfect alignment. Akira stared at the espresso machine, stomach twisting. He had no reason to ask, he’d seen for himself, but… “Those were all women, right?”

“Yes, to my knowledge.”

“Just checking.” He stalled, sipping his coffee as he pushed down any irrelevant thoughts. “So, scenario: you’re at the park.”

“Excellent.” He zipped up his bag up and picked up a scone. “The park is an inspiring place.”

“She walks up to you, and says she thinks you’re hot. What do you do?”

“That’s rather brazen behavior. What is she wearing?” Somewhere behind Akira, a baby started crying. _Same_ , he thought. “I need to form an accurate mental image, or this exercise will be useless.”

“I don’t know, Yusuke. A red dress.”

“Marvelous.”

“She asks if you want to go back to her house and have sex. What do you do?”

As he said it, Yusuke started badly. Maybe Akira had gone too far. He knew for a fact that Yusuke didn’t have much in the way of dating experience, despite witnessing him get propositioned regularly.

However, Akira was emotionally drained, and Yusuke shouldn’t be buying his own pastries when he knew Akira and his wallet were on their way. “Yeah. She has a great personality, and she wants to model nude for you and then have sex.”

“Akira!” He lowered his voice, face red and voice strained. “I highly doubt—”

“That’s the scenario.”

Yusuke was frazzled beyond Akira’s expectation, and retreated from the conversation to stare at his plate of crumbs. Really cute, Akira mused pathetically. He wondered if he stumbled upon some sort of secret fantasy, and realized—probably. Somehow, Akira was unphased. Knowing for sure that Yusuke wasn’t into him was a pretty heady bonerkill.

Yusuke struggled valiantly to regain his poise, tugging at his sleeves and pushing back his hair to distract himself. Akira put his muffin back on the plate after a last, large bite, grateful to finally be the least embarrassed person at the table. “Girls hit on you all the time. The romance thing would be easier if you noticed.”

“Mm-hn,” he wheezed in return.

Akira tilted his head, trying to make eye contact. Yusuke attempted to tuck his long fringe behind his ear twice before giving up on it, and Akira noticed for the first time that there were still chips of glittery blue polish decorating Yusuke’s nails and catching the light. “How are you acting like this after showing me your jerk-off folder?”

Yusuke made a sound like a strangled animal, and one of his stick bug legs struck the table and almost spilled their coffee. He rallied himself to fix Akira with an expression far beyond incredulity as Akira stilled the mugs. “I wouldn’t—How undignified! Those were artistic nudes! References! I need them for class!”

“You put like twenty naked girls in front of me on the table after telling me you watch porn for the camera angles.”

“I—” Akira expected some sort of feeble denial, but Yusuke just lowered his voice. “I do. For… certain… artistic commissions, but… such behavior…”

Like a cat scenting a freshly cracked can of tuna, Akira’s eyes went wide. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to grab Yusuke’s wrist, tugging it away from his face as he leaned forward. Yusuke met his gaze tentatively. “Certain _what_?”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate practice for a young artist to supplement his income—”

“Yusuke.” His voice was firm, and Yusuke tugged his hand back, expression wary. “Draw me a nudie pic.”

“No!”

“Name your price.”

“Akira, no.”

“Yusuke,” he said again, but was unable to come up with an argument as to why Yusuke should utilize his artistic expertise to draw his friend some artsy porn. Akira would frame it. He’d hang it on his front door. In front of him, Yusuke crossed his arms. “Listen. Why not?”

He didn’t have to ask; Yusuke’s entire face was glowing red under his scowl. Akira collapsed into the table and sighed.

* * *

It hadn’t been a very productive afternoon. After Yusuke calmed down, Akira was able to extract the fascinating confession that Haru had introduced him to some some online community where he has been taking commission work for the past few months. He hadn’t been able to get details, but the gist seemed to be that Yusuke was drawing sex art for a pretty decent recompense. Akira probably could have spun his inquisition more tactfully, but the news had been too wild to play it cool, and Yusuke quickly clammed up in embarrassment when Akira ‘blew it out of proportion’.

As far as their mission, Yusuke’s type didn’t get any more specific than “beautiful.” Even then, Akira wasn’t exactly sure what Yusuke meant by it. It didn’t really hinge on physical attractiveness, apparently—more the feeling Yusuke got, the woman’s apparent nature and how he might translate that to a canvas. It wasn’t a very useful measure, and made even less sense considering that while _Sayuri_ topped Yusuke’s list of most beautiful things, the two runners-up were lobsters and Ann Takamaki, in that order. Yusuke went home looking dejected and Akira sat in the train with a book in his lap and stared at the same line of the page until he reached his stop.

The group chat conversation from the other week sat at the forefront of his thoughts all evening. _Actually, some people don’t realize until they’re married with kids or super old._

 _send me those links you sent futaba and yusuke_ , he texted Ann. She replied a minute later with a stack of URLs and a string of question marks.

He wondered, as he skimmed through article after article, if Yusuke had actually read them, given them any thought. He’d seen no evidence of Yusuke ever responding to romantic or sexual advances of any kind, even to rebuff them. The only time before the gallery Yusuke had even raised the subject of romantic love was the day they’d spent together at the pond back in high school. He’d mistaken siblings for a couple, decided there was too much he didn’t understand, and never spoke of it again. It hadn’t served its purpose, and he’d dismissed it.

While he thought of these things, Morgana lounged on his chest, eyes shut with his paws tucked under his body as he dozed. Akira stared at the smug little bread loaf he made and wondered what it would be like to not have to work or write essays or serve as a wingman for his crush. Maybe he and Morgana could switch bodies, and then they’d both be happy.

“Alright dude,” Ryuji interrupted, shoving Akira’s legs off the couch and dropping himself into the empty space. “You’ve been way too mopey lately, spill.”

Morgana complained about the jostling, and Ryuji imitated his voice in a mocking whine. Akira endured the ruckus. It wasn’t his business, was it? On the other hand, it probably couldn’t hurt to speculate… “Do you think Yusuke jerks off?”

Morgana was out the window in seconds, Ryuji hitting the ground cursing as he scrambled away. Akira stretched his legs back out.

“What the hell,” he cried, expression wrenched by betrayal. “Come _on_. I thought you were really upset about somethin’.”

“I’m serious.”

Ryuji gave an enormous groan of disbelief. “Of course he does. He’s alive, ain’t he? Why are we talkin’ about this?”

No sarcastic remark came to him, so Akira folded his hands over his stomach and stared at the ceiling.

Ryuji let out another whine, hands pressing into his eyes, and collapsed back on the sofa. Akira could almost hear him counting backwards from ten. “Alright, asshole, explain.”

“I think he’s shy.”

“No one’s too shy to jerk off,” Ryuji returned immediately.

Akira frowned. That was bulletproof logic. “I implied he jerked off and he freaked out and denied it.”

“Why were you having this conversation at all? Never mind.” He sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world had been thrust upon him. “He was probably just weirded out by you sayin’ it. You probably brought it up in the middle of talkin’ about other stuff, right?”

Now, what reason did Ryuji have to think he was that tactless? Akira kicked at him indignantly. “He’d just got done showing me his porn collection.”

Ryuji sat up, leaned forward so he could look Akira in the eye. “What.”

“It was a huge folder of naked women. He said it was for class. I couldn’t even look at them because we were in the middle of a coffee shop by his university.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me.”

“I wish Yusuke would fuck with me.” Akira threw his arm over his eyes and sighed.

“Alright, I’m not here for that convo, rewind.” A pillow came down hard over Akira’s face. Fine, he’d deserved that. “Yusuke’s a weird dude. Whipping out his porn stash in the middle of Starbucks? Yeah, I’d buy it. He doesn’t wanna talk about jerkin’ off? That one’s normal, man. Why are you stressed about this?”

There were a lot of potential answers to that question, but Ryuji’s words sparked a familiar frustration. This idea that Yusuke was just a _weirdo_ who _did weird things_. Akira knew that most of their friends had adapted to his admittedly difficult personality by accepting Yusuke’s eccentricities without question. A lot of the time, that worked out best.

Here was Akira’s problem: he did have questions. The rare times Yusuke was open about his thought processes, it always ran so much deeper than Akira expected. Even the fixation on beauty which had led him into the tumults of countless social faux pas had bloomed from the root of his depression, Sayuri’s place in his life as a comfort object, and his bone-deep desire to help others endure their hardships by brightening a dark world.

So much of what got Yusuke unkindly labeled came from such a pure, selfless place. Other people just weren’t like that, and either couldn’t understand him or didn’t want to try.

“Remember when we first met him? He freaked on us and denied it when we asked if Madarame was a piece of shit.”

“Huh, yeah. What about it?”

Akira pressed his hands over his eyes, forcing stars. Madarame _had_ been a piece of shit. “I don’t know.”

Ryuji watched him, grimace increasing by the second. At last, he rubbed his face with his hand, huffing out a sigh that was less for theatrics and more because he was genuinely at a loss. If Akira was the only person on earth who could get depressed over a conversation about jerking off, Ryuji was the only person on earth who would let him off easy for it. “Listen, bro. This is like, seriously personal business. If it really bothers you just ask him about it again. That guy’d probably tell you anything.”

Akira closed his eyes, nodding, ready to ignore this advice _talk it out_ too, when Ryuji lifted his legs off the sofa. He slid beneath them, easy as anything, grabbing a game controller and letting Akira fall back into place.

He was warm. So was Morgana when he finally returned, curling up on Akira’s chest again. There was nothing notable about Ryuji letting Akira hog the couch when he was in a poor mood, and nothing special about Morgana using Akira as a heating pad while he dozed, but maybe that’s why it was such a good moment. Right now, his problems didn’t have to matter; they were all comfortable, it was late, and trouble didn’t last forever. And there was something to be said about that, probably something very sappy and profound, but he couldn’t find the words. He just really loved his friends.

 

**Author's Note:**

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